Guardian
by know1knows
Summary: Preseries. Dean is 17 and Sam is 13. This story has kind of taken on a life of its own. Rated for language. Bullies, brothers, small towns, hunting strange creatures...who knows?
1. Chapter 1

Not mine. Not making any money from this. Just playing

Anyone watching would have thought that he was paying strict attention to the girl he had been talking to for the past 5 minutes. She had seen him pull the car up to the curb, get out, walk around to the passenger side and lean against the front fender of the car. As she walked past, he gave her one of his patented smiles and casually said "Hi." That was all it took for her to stop and talk to him.

He wasn't going to complain Talking to a pretty girl always beat waiting around by himself. He was almost positive she had said her name was Darlene and she was 16. _'Okay, that's cool.' _She was on her way to the library to finish some sort of English project. '_I think that's where she said she was going.'_

He had really stopped paying attention to her the moment he saw Sam emerge from the school. Sam had come through the doors with a boy that Dean recognized as a kid who had befriended his brother shortly after they moved into town. But what had really caught Dean's attention was the kid behind them who appeared to be giving Sam a hard time. Dean watched as the boy purposely stepped on the heel of Sam's shoe, causing it to slip off his heel. Sam tried to maneuver his foot back into his shoe by pushing his heel into it, but the boy behind him used this opportunity to push Sam forward into his friend and it was all that Sam could do to not lose his balance and drop his schoolbooks.

Dean was about to head over to his brother when he saw Sam turn and confront the boy. He decided to wait and see what would transpire, knowing that Sam could probably defend himself. So Dean continued talking to Darlene. _'What was she saying again?' _He just gave her another smile and hoped that she wouldn't notice that he hadn't been paying attention.

Dean saw Sam turn around and ask the other boy to leave him alone. _'Oh, come on Sammy. Leave me alone? Like that'll work. You're just asking him to keep picking on you.'_

The bully just laughed at Sam and gave him another push backwards causing Sam to collide with his friend once again. Both boys moved a little farther away from the kid tormenting them.

'_Come on Sam. Stand up for yourself. Don't let him push you around'_

"Look Rick, I don't know what your problem is, but Jake and I are just going home. I don't know what we did to upset you, but whatever it was, I'm sorry," Sam said to the bully as he slowly backed away and tried to catch up to Jake.

"_I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE DID. I'M SORRY_" mocked the other boy as he advanced towards Sam once again. "I'll tell you what you did. You showed up in my face is what you did."

"Look, we're just going home. We'll be outta your face in a minute, if you just leave us alone"

'_Aww, Sammy. You're not helping yourself.'_

"Oh! Well…you're gonna go home to Mommy. Just like that. Nah! I don't think so," replied Rick with a menacing look on his face. He leaned in towards Sam and Dean could see the boy's hand form into a fist.

'_Okay. That's enough.' _Dean pushed himself away from the car without even a second thought about Darlene. "Sammy!" he called as he walked towards his brother and the boy tormenting him. "Got a problem?"

Sam looked quickly at Dean and then turned back to Rick. "No. No problem. Just going to Jake's house."

Dean watched as Rick looked over at him and the realization dawned on the younger boy that he would not be bullying Sam any more that day. Rick slowly retreated towards a group of teenagers that had materialized behind him hoping to watch a fight between Rick and the new kid at school.

"Well, come on. I'll give you both a lift to Jake's."

Sam gave one last look at Rick and then both he and Jake headed towards Dean. As they got closer, Dean noticed the scowl on his brother's face. "What's the matter with you?"

Sam walked right into Dean, hitting him with his left shoulder, which caused Dean to take a step backwards. "You can be such a jerk sometimes, Dean. I wish you'd just leave me alone!" and he continued walking past Dean and headed down the street with Jake.

For a moment, Dean simply stood and watched his brother walk away with his friend. Then he turned to see what Rick and his group of friends were doing, but they had headed off in the opposite direction. Dean set off towards the Impala and noticed that Darlene was still waiting beside the car. He gave her a quick smile, said "Later" and climbed into the car. He didn't have either the time or inclination to try to impress her right now. He just wanted to find out why Sam was so upset with him. He pulled the car onto the road in the direction that Sam and Jake had gone.

As he neared the two boys, Dean slowed down and leaned over the passenger seat so he could talk to Sam. "Hey Kiddo. What did you mean that you wish I'd just leave you alone? To get your ass kicked? You didn't seem to be doing so well back there, ya know."

Without slowing his pace or looking at his brother, Sam simply replied, "I was doing just fine until you showed up. Maybe I just didn't want to fight. Fighting's not always the answer you know."

"Maybe not - but when the other guy seems to be intent on kickin' your ass, telling him you're sorry isn't much of a solution either," shot back Dean, who was becoming increasingly annoyed with his little brother. "Maybe if you'd stood up for yourself, I wouldn't have had to jump in to save your scrawny ass."

That seemed to get Sam's attention and he stopped and went over to the car. He bent down to look into the window at his brother. "Save my scrawny ass? I can defend myself you know. I don't need you always jumping in to save me. Why don't you just get lost? I'm tired of you hanging around me!" He stood up and moved back to where Jake was waiting on the sidewalk. Together the two boys continued walking until they came to Jake's house and they proceeded inside.

Dean sat in the car dumbfounded by his brother's attitude. What had he done wrong? He had tried to stay out of it until it looked like Sam was going to let this kid start pummeling him. What the hell had Sam wanted him to do? Just stand there and watch this kid beat the crap outta him?

After a few minutes, Dean pulled away and headed to the motel where they were currently staying. He screeched to the car to a halt right in front of the their room, threw it into park and got out of the car. He slammed the door shut with as much force as he could muster hoping to dispel some of his anger. As he entered the tiny motel room, Dean threw the car keys on the table that was just inside the door and very heavily set himself down in a chair across his father.

"What's wrong, Sport?" his father asked trying very hard to sound concerned and not simply exasperated with the antics of his 17 year-old son. It seemed Dean was always upset about something.

"Nothin'," was all that Dean bothered to offer to his father.

Not feeling like pressing the matter, John tried to change the subject. "Where's your brother?"

"He went to Jake's house," grumbled Dean.

"Are you picking him up later?"

"Why the fuck should I?" came the uncontrolled response as Dean finally looked at his father. "Let the little bastard look after himself. That's what he wants anyway."

"Dean," came the warning from John. "First off, you don't talk to me like that. And secondly, what the hell's eating you?"

Dean didn't answer but instead turned to look out the window. He didn't much care that he was pissing his father off; Sam had pissed him off and now he was supposed to act as if everything was okay.

"Dean. Answer me."

Dean looked over at his father and then just as quickly looked away. What was he supposed to say? _'Sam told me to fuck off and leave him alone after I stepped in to stop some kid from beating the crap outta him.'_ So instead, he shrugged his shoulders, said nothing and just looked back out the window.

Dean, I want to know what is going on," cautioned his father once again.

"Nothing's going on," countered Dean as he started to get up from the chair. His father's hand on his arm stopped him from leaving and the pressure being exerted his arm caused him to return to his seat. Still, he opted out of saying anything further and simply stared at the floor.

"Dammit, Dean," retorted John. "Tell me what happened, NOW."

Dean glanced over at his father and then let out a slow sigh. There was no sense getting into further trouble by taking his frustrations out on his father. "I stopped by Sammy's school to pick him up – like I'm supposed to. When he came out of the school, there was some kid behind him giving him a hard time. He pushed Sammy a couple of times before I walked up and asked if there was a problem. Sam got pissed off and told me to leave him alone. So I came home."

"You left Sam alone with this kid?" asked his father incredulously.

"No. The kid backed off and took off with his friends. And Sammy was with Jake. Besides I followed them to Jake's house before I came home."

"Did you try talking to him?"

"Yeah. Told me that he didn't need me saving his ass all the time and to get lost."

"Are you sure that's all that happened?" asked his father trying to make some sense of what might have transpired between his two sons.

Dean rolled his eyes. Why was his father questioning him? Hadn't he always looked after his younger brother? "Dad, that's all that happened. Some kid was giving him a hard time. I was gonna step in as soon as I saw them, but I waited to see what Sam did first. He knows how to fight. So I waited for him to start looking like he was going to stand up for himself, but he never did, Kept telling this kid he was sorry that he'd pissed him off. It wasn't until I was sure the kid was gonna haul off and punch him that I stepped in and then all I did was ask if there was a problem."

"But he hadn't actually hit your brother at that point?" asked John. "Maybe Sam would have defended himself once he realized the threat was real."

"Yeah?…and I was just supposed to stand there? Just stand there until after the kid smacked him?" responded Dean, obviously stressed with the way this conversation was going. "Sammy was still holding onto his schoolbooks and backing away from this kid. If I'd waited any longer, he'd have pummeled Sammy a few times before I'd have been able to reach them. Is that what you wanted me to do?"

"I'm just saying that maybe you should have waited to see how Sam was going to handle it before you stepped in." was the only explanation his father could offer.

"I did. And he didn't handle it. Just let this kid push him around. Next time I'll just let some kid beat the snot outta him," countered Dean. He got up from his chair and headed towards the door not wanting to stay in the same room with his father any longer. As he reached for the doorknob he turned, "Just don't expect me to keep looking outfor him if all you're gonna do is tell me I shouldn't get involved. If that's what you both want, I can stay out of **_all_** his problems. I got better things to do than babysit some stupid 13 year-old kid anyway."

Dean stormed out the door and jumped into his car. He heard his father call his name as the door shut behind him but he didn't bother to acknowledge him. He didn't understand why his father was giving him a hard time about this. He knew that he would have been in real trouble had he let the other kid hit Sam before he intervened and he also knew that, like it or not, Sam knew he was there and had counted on the fact that Dean wouldn't let anything happen to him.

So why were they both acting like he was the bad guy?


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had spent the better part of the last hour driving around the small town they had moved to a few months previously. He had been lying when he told his father that he had better things to do than baby-sit his brother. The fact was that he had nothing else to do.

He had no friends to hang out with. He never made any friends when they moved to a new town; he didn't see the point. They were just going to leave in a few months anyway. He didn't think it was worthwhile to bother to get to know people when he was just going to leave and never come back again.

Not like Sam. Every new town they lived in, even for a few months, Sam would find some kid to be his friend. It was like he was constantly striving to be normal. Like their family could ever be normal.

'_Yep. We can be a normal family. Mom burned to death pinned to a ceiling and our father hunts evil things for a living - Things most people believe exist only in horror movies. Not a problem. We'll just put down roots and advertise in the phone book that we'll solve all your demon problems. Yeah – we can do normal. No problem.'_

The closest Dean ever got to normal was going to school. Not that he really cared about school; he just went because his Dad said it would make his Mom happy if he finished high school. So he did it for Mom. But he went and that was all. He worked just hard enough to get by. And he never joined in. He showed up at school just in time to make it to class and he left as soon as the bell rang.

Of course he wasn't so clued out that he avoided all contact with other people. Girls were good. He could always find time to talk to girls and, sometimes, he even took a girl out on a date. While they had been living in this two-horse town, he had gone out with 4 girls. First he had taken Nancy Torchak out – twice. Okay, maybe he shouldn't count her because the only reason he had asked her out was because she was going steady with Robin Leavey, the high school's star quarterback. She wasn't even really his type. He thought she was a little spacey but he never minded showing some jock that he could steal his girl if he really wanted. So he asked her out and she said yes and then he had asked her out once more – just for fun and to piss off Robin.

But as pissed off as Robin had been that Dean had taken his girlfriend out, nothing had ever come of it. That was due to the fact that Robin was in Dean's phys.ed. class and before Dean has asked Nancy out, the class had been practicing wrestling. Dean and Robin had been paired together the very first day and Dean let Robin know that he could pin him without blinking an eye. So there had never been any problem with Robin.

No, the problem could have been Nancy. Dean thought maybe she was getting a little to cozy, so after their second date, he had asked her best friend out. That stopped her. She had gone crying all the way back to Robin. Which was fine with Dean because he hadn't been looking for a steady girlfriend anyway. He'd just been looking for a little female companionship away from his family.

But now he was trying to stay away from his family and he didn't have anywhere to go. He couldn't keep driving around all night. The Impala was such a pig on gas – he'd used almost ¼ of a tank in the past hour. He'd driven past the high school three times and even went to the library wondering whether Darlene might be there. He hadn't bothered to go in because he knew that she would just ask him about the scene at Sammy's school and that was the last thing Dean wanted to think about.

The ringing of his cell phone brought Dean out of his reverie and without thinking he picked it up and answered "Yeah?"

"Hey, Dean. It's me," came Sam's voice on the other end of the phone. "Dad said to call you to pick me up."

"Pick you up? I thought you wanted me to leave you alone?"

"Come on, Dean. You know Dad doesn't like me to walk home by myself. Jake's family is having supper shortly and I have homework to do. Just come and get me, will ya?"

"Oh…so now you want your jerk of a big brother to come and get you? I'm not so bad when you need something but the rest of the time I should just get lost, eh?" Dean couldn't help the sarcasm from spilling from his voice.

"Whatever. I'll be waiting outside – or should I call Dad and tell him you won't pick me up?" taunted Sam into the phone.

"Bastard," replied Dean before he hung up and swung the car around to head to Jake's.


	3. Chapter 3

'_The little shit,'_ thought Dean as he pulled up in front of Jake's house. _'He said he'd be outside.'_

Dean threw the car into park and decided to wait. He figured his brother would be out any minute. He was probably just waiting inside until he saw Dean pull up. After a few minutes, Sam had yet to appear and Dean was becoming more agitated as time passed. He was just about to get out of the car and go knock on the door when Jake poked his head out of the house.

"Sam left a few minutes before you got here. He got tired of waiting and said he'd watch for you while he was walking."

"He left?" questioned Dean, not quite believing what he had just heard. Sam had even acknowledged that Dad didn't like him walking by himself but then he decided to head off alone anyway. "Great. Which way did he go?"

"Towards the school," stated Jake. "I'm surprised you didn't pass him on your way."

'_That's because I came from the other direction, Moron.'_

"Thanks – I wasn't really looking for him. I must have driven right past him," said Dean before he pulled a u-turn and set off to find Sam. _'I'm gonna kill that little shit when I find him!'_

Dean drove cautiously down the road looking for his brother but didn't find any trace of him in the two blocks before the school. Once he reached the school, he drove carefully through the parking lot in case Sam had decided to take a short cut through the schoolyard. With no sign of him there, Dean proceeded down the road in the direction of the motel.

He was driving past a large park when he noticed a small group of kids gathered beside the ball diamond. Dean slowed right down to see if his brother was with them. As he looked harder at the cluster of kids, he recognized the same boy who had been giving Sam a hard time earlier that day. Now he really hoped that Sam was not with these kids.

Dean pulled the Impala onto the next sidestreet so he could get closer to the group of kids. They didn't seem to be doing anything other than simply loitering but he wasn't going to be too careful. As he pulled adjacent to where they were standing, he saw Sam walking through the playground directly ahead.

'_Thank God. At least I made it here before Sam met up with them.'_

Dean revved the engine in order to get both Sam's attention and to let that Rick kid know that he was there - in case he thought he might try anything once he caught sight of Sam.

Sam looked up when he heard the car engine revving and immediately recognized it as his brother's car. He stopped walking and stared at the Impala for an instant and then he turned around and headed back the way he had come. Watching his little brother retreat made Dean even more livid than he already was and he put the car into drive and sped down the road closer to his brother. After he had driven as close as he could get before the street turned in the opposite direction, Dean drove the car onto the grass and continued across the park towards Sam.

Dean drew the Impala up beside his brother and leaned out the window. "**Sam! Get in the car!**" but Sam acted like he hadn't heard him and kept walking away. Dean had had enough of his brother's games and shouted, "**Sam! Get in the car NOW! You'll be sorry if I have to get out and drag your sorry ass back here! Get in the car!**"

All the commotion had caused the array of teenagers to watch the spectacle that was unfolding between Sam and Dean. The display seemed as amuse them almost as much as it infuriated Dean.

Sam had ceased walking as he heard how angry his brother had become but he still didn't make any move to get into the car. He just looked over at Dean as if daring him to make good on his threats.

"**Sam, so help me….!**" exclaimed Dean and it almost looked like he was seriously considering murder. "**Get over here NOW**!"

For whatever reason, Sam decided that he wouldn't keep challenging Dean's authority and began walking very casually over to the car. He hesitated before opening the car door and sliding inside. "What took you so long?"

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles were bone-white. "Just shut-up," was all he bothered to say as he drove across the park and back to the road.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Dean decided to let Sam know who he would have found in the park. "Did you see who was at the park?"

No answer.

"Sam? Did you see who you would've run into at the park? And he was there with a bunch of his friends. Not the smartest move you've ever made, going off by yourself."

"Shut-up Dean! I could've handled myself. Now all you've done is make me look like some kind of idiot chasing after me like that!"

"You told me you'd wait."

"So. I get tired of always waiting for you. I don't need you holding my hand everywhere I go."

"Well, take it up with Dad. He's the one who told you to call me. Ya think I want to be left babysitting you all the time?"

They were only a block and a half away the motel and were stopped at an intersection to let a pedestrian cross. Sam opened the car door and stepped out, slamming the door behind him. "Then just leave me alone!" he yelled and started walking towards the motel.

Dean couldn't take any more of his brother's attitude and floored the gas pedal to get away from him. Sam would just have to walk the rest of the way.

For the second time that day, Dean screeched the car to a halt just outside their motel room and slammed the car door shut as he exited the car. He burst into the room in the same angry manner he had previously exhibited when he had arrived a few hours earlier and found his father sitting in the exact same place he had been when he left.

"Where's Sam?"

"He should be here in a minute. He got outta the car a couple of blocks back."

"And you left him?"

"YES, I left him! You deal with him. He's your son – not mine!"

_Okay…I know I seem to be going in circles. But that'll end next chapter. I promise! And thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

"Dean! I don't know what the hell…" began his father.

"Fuck! I'm tired of the little shit! I can't deal with him any more!" complained Dean as he paced around the room.

"Dean! Sit down! And watch your language!" John's voice rose considerably with each syllable he uttered. This day was just not getting any better and he had other business to which he had to attend but first he had to settle this.

Dean stopped pacing and stood looking at his father. It was obvious that he was extremely upset; his chest was heaving with every breath he took and, if looks could kill, John was sure he'd be dead by now. But Dean had been overstepping his bounds all evening and John was going to put a stop to that.

John tried to control his own anger in order to deal with his son, but his patience was wearing thin. "Dean. I. Said. Sit. Down." He pulled out a chair and motioned for Dean to sit. "I've had just about enough of your behavior. You're going to sit here and calm down. Do you understand me?"

"That little bastard…" commenced Dean as he stood in front of his father.

"Dean. DID YOU HEAR ME?" commanded his father in a tone that left absolutely no room for discussion. "Sit down NOW."

There was a brief pause as Dean stared at his father and the reality of the situation filtered slowly into his brain. Outrightly defying his father was never a good idea.

"Yes Sir." Dean sat in the proffered chair but his heart was still pounding rapidly and it was more than evident that his anger had yet to subside. He leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles and folded his arms across his torso. Even though he had obeyed his father's command to take a seat, he remained a complete picture of defiance.

"I'm not sure where you get off coming in here and speaking to me like that," started John, but he was cut off when the door to the motel room slowly opened and Sam walked in.

Sam looked at the scene he had walked into and immediately recognized the stand-off that was occurring between his father and brother. He gave a little smirk to himself, positive that Dean was in trouble for making him walk home.

But his bliss was short-lived as his father turned to him, "You. Sit right there," and he gestured to a chair opposite Dean.

His father's words took Sam by surprise as he hadn't expected that he might be in trouble too. He sat carefully in the chair and gave a fleeting look at both Dean and his father.

"Now, I don't know what's happened between you two, but something's going on and I want to know what it is. Do you both understand me?"

"Yessir," squeaked Sam in a small voice while Dean only nodded his head slightly.

John ran his fingers through his hair and let out a slight sigh. Then he looked at his youngest son. "Do you want to start by telling me what happened at your school today?"

"Dean happened," began Sam with an elevated level of irritation in his voice. "He thinks he can just jump into everything." He glowered at Dean who, in turn, was throwing daggers with his own eyes at his brother.

"Okay. I already got that from Dean. I want to know what was going on between you and the other kid," stated John, making it known that he was aware of the incident between Sam and the boy who had been bullying him.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Rick's full of hot air. He wasn't a threat and he certainly **_wasn't_** going to hit me," continued Sam.

"**_Oh no?_** That's not what it looked like from where I was standing," interrupted Dean.

"Dean, stay out of this right now. I want to hear what Sam has to say."

"Of course you do," mumbled Dean, more to himself than anyone.

"Pardon me?" asked John, feeling his anger rising once again. This was going to be a long night.

"Nothin'. Sorry"

John glared at his eldest son and then turned back to Sam and arched his eyebrows to motion him to continue.

Sam rubbed his forehead with his fingers and then looked at his father. "Dad, he's been giving me a hard time since we moved here. He's never done anything. He just shoots his mouth off."

"Then why did Dean feel like he was about to hit you when he intervened?"

"I dunno…Dad, he was just giving me a hard time. Apparently he does that to all the new kids. I guess it's just my turn. He's a bully, but as long as he thinks you're scared of him, he doesn't really do anything." Then Sam looked directly at Dean and accused "But now that Hero-boy here had to get involved, Rick thinks I'm a wimp and he's just going to get worse."

"Your brother told me that he was pretty sure this boy was going to hit you. What do you think happened to make him think that?"

"Probably just that he had pushed me a few times. But he's done that before and that's all that ever happens," shrugged Sam.

"So the fist at the end of his hand really wasn't a threat?" snapped Dean.

"No Dean, it wasn't," Sam responded.

"It wasn't? Okay…Sorry I got involved," quipped Dean sarcastically as he got up from his seat. "Next time I hope he beats you to a pulp." He had had enough of this conversation and was intent on leaving the small room.

John took a step towards Dean. "We're not through. Sit down." He let out a breath that he hadn't even known he was holding. Once he was sure that Dean was going to retake his seat, he turned back to Sam. "What if Dean had been right and he had hit you?"

Sam sounded very exasperated when he responded "He wasn't going to. But if he had, I would have defended myself. I'm not useless, you know. You – and Dean – have both seen to that. So let me fight my own battles, okay?"

John sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes. Then he looked up at his sons and shook his head slowly before he spoke. "Sam, Dean has been looking out for ever since your mother died. I'm sure he doesn't mean to upset you when he gets involved, but he's just very protective of you."

"Yeah? Well someone should tell him I'm thirteen – not three!" countered Sam.

"Wow! Thirteen!" remarked Dean making sure he put the right amount of artificial amazement into his voice.

"Dean," warned his father, the frustration evident in his reply. He really didn't know how to resolve this situation and, not for the first time in the last twelve and a half years, really wished that Mary was here. "Someone want to tell me what happened just now? Why you both came home separately?"

Dean sat forward in his chair. "Sam called me to pick him up at Jake's. He told me he'd wait outside but when I got there he was gone. I had to go looking for him." Dean stared at Sam defying him to dispute what he had just said.

John looked over at Sam. "Is that right Sam?"

"Yeah, I left. I didn't feel like waiting for him." Sam knew that his actions were probably going to get him into trouble but he felt like both his father and brother were treating him like a child. He was old enough to walk home by himself. "Everyone else I know walks home alone. Why can't I?"

His exasperation showing, John replied, "Because Sam, we know about things that other people don't even believe in. And you should know by now that these 'things' often find their way to us. That's why I don't want you heading off alone."

"But it's still daylight. Things don't happen in the daylight."

"You sure about that?" murmured Dean.

"Well…they usually don't," responded Sam trying to maintain an air of confidence.

"Sam. Things can happen at any time," answered John. "And I don't care what all your friends do or don't do, my rule is that you don't walk home alone and you will obey that rule. Is that understood?" Now he felt as though he was back on stable ground. There was nothing to argue about on this one.

"Yessir," came the weakened response.

"Good. Now tell me why you got out of the car before you got back here."

Once again the irritation was back when Sam answered, "Dean was on my case again about Rick being at the park. I didn't want to hear it any more so I got out and walked the rest of the way."

John shot Dean an incredulous look. "And that's why you stormed in here ready to kill anything in your path? Mind telling me how old you are?"

John's change in attitude caught Dean by surprise. _'Why does he do this to me?' _Dean bolted from his chair and said "Old enough not to put up with this shit!" and as he marched over to Sam, he took a swing at him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean's fist stopped just short of Sam's jaw. Sam, who had not foreseen his brother's actions, had barely moved but his eyes had widened considerably as Dean advanced toward him. Still, he couldn't escape Dean's reach as Dean grabbed him by the neck. He tightened his grip on Sam's neck and raised his other arm in what looked like an attempt to deliver a well-aimed punch to his brother's face.

Sam looked up at his brother, terrified and confused. He was having a hard time comprehending that his brother would actually hit him. But Dean didn't carry through on his threat; he only tightened his hold on his brother's neck. He may have been fuming, but he had never really had any intention of hitting his brother. Strangling him was another matter altogether and he squeezed Sam's throat mercilessly.

John had been just as surprised as Sam by what Dean had done and it took him a minute to react. He had reached Dean as he lifted his arm and John seized it to stop him from hitting his brother. John held Dean's arm securely but never felt the follow-through for the punch that he was sure Dean was going to throw. He could feel the tension in Dean's upraised arm but, as he glanced at his youngest son, it was the look on his face that caught John's attention. Sam was turning blue.

"DEAN! THAT'S ENOUGH!" screamed John as he grabbed Dean's shoulder and tried to swing him around to face him. But Dean was planted securely in front of his brother and John had to reach over and knock his son's hand from Sam's neck. When he had succeeded in separating his two sons, John was finally able to rotate Dean toward him. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

"PROVING A POINT!" yelled Dean as he pushed his forearms against his father's shoulders to propel himself away.

John took hold of Dean's shirt and pulled him closer. As Dean lurched toward him, John spun him around and thrust him back into the chair that he had abandoned only moments ago.

"YEAH? WELL, WHATEVER POINT YOU HAVE TO MAKE, YOU'LL DO IT FROM HERE? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" John planted his feet on either side of Dean's legs and leaned over him with his hands clutching the arms of the chair, effectively using his body to cage in his eldest son.

Dean stared angrily at his father who stared back at him with matching fury. Without looking away Dean answered, "Yes SIR."

No one moved and the silence in the room was deafening. Finally John took a deep breath and released his grip on the chair. As he pushed himself upright he said "If you get out of that chair one more time, I'm going to tie you to it." Then he took a step backwards, positioning himself between his two sons.

Again John found himself not knowing what to do. He knew that the entire situation had spun out of control and he had to regain command. All his years of military experience had not taught him how to deal with two obstinate teenagers.

As he turned to Sam and saw him holding his neck with both hands, he asked, "You okay?"

Sam croaked out a rough "Yeah," before he launched into a coughing fit. After he had stopped, he looked angrily at Dean. "What the hell was that for?"

But John spoke before Dean could answer. "I'm asking the questions. You will both remain in your seats and speak only when spoken to. IS THAT CLEAR?"

Neither boy responded so he asked again, "**Did I make myself clear?**"

"Yes Sir" responded both boys simultaneously.

John took a moment to try to recover his composure. Then he directed his first question toward Dean, "What was that all about?"

Anger still evident in his voice, Dean replied, "Proving my point. Both of you think Sam can defend himself, but look what happened. I could've smacked him three or four times before he even lifted a finger. And by then, it would've been too late and I'd have beaten the crap outta him."

"But I didn't expect you to come over and hit me," yelped Sam indignantly.

"Just like Rick **_isn't_** going to hit you," responded Dean.

"Okay. Stop," interrupted John, intent on keeping control. "I don't want you talking to each other – just to me. Got it?" Although the two teenagers remained in a stare-down, neither spoke again. "So, your little sideshow was to prove we were wrong?"

"Yep," came Dean's smug response.

"Pardon?"

"Yes Sir."

John had to think for a minute. However irrational it had been, Dean's display had succeeded in showing how ineffectively Sam would have defended himself. Dean had managed to breach the short distance to Sam and begin his assault without opposition. Granted, John had not expected any of this, but he dealt with the unexpected every day. He really should have been able to respond faster and, the fact that he hadn't been able to, lent incredible weight to Dean's position. Had Dean really wanted to hit his brother, John wouldn't have been fast enough to stop him. And he had only been standing a couple of feet away. As it was, he had left some nasty marks on Sam's neck.

"Alright," he conceded, "I see your point. But that was the wrong way to prove it."

"How else was I gonna prove it? You haven't listened to me all night," responded Dean. "When I first came home, you told me I should have stayed out of it because the kid hadn't actually hit Sam." Dean took a shaky breath trying to control his emotions, knowing that his father was more likely to pay attention to him if he at least sounded rational. "And Sam didn't think he was a threat because he didn't think he'd hit him. Well, he didn't think I'd hit him either – but I could have." Dean glared at his brother and then turned his attention back to his father and stated angrily "And you made it the three feet to us a hell of a lot faster than I would've made it the 50 feet to them. But you still think I'm wrong."

"No, Dean, you're not wrong. But what you did right now _**was**_ wrong," countered John.

John rubbed his eyes and wondered how things could have gotten this far out of hand. He knew that Dean really had Sam's best interests at heart; he also knew that Sam was going to have to grow up one day and be able to fend for himself. But John didn't believe that Sam was ready for that.

John had never worried about Dean being able to defend himself. Dean had always been a fighter – maybe even a predator - and seemed to be able to sense when someone – or something – might be a threat to him. John had always thought that probably came from the training he had instilled in his boys but, if that was the reason, why didn't Sam have it too?

Of course there was always the possibility that Sam had read the situation with Rick correctly and the boy had not posed a threat to him. Sam was always more willing to give people the benefit of the doubt than either he or Dean were. Sam was a 'people-person' and was quite often correct in his assessment of people. Maybe Dean had just made this situation worse.

Although he had to admit that Dean's assessment of the situation was most likely the correct one, and even if it weren't, Sam had remained unharmed and the other kid had backed off. But how was he going to convince Sam that he had to stand up to a potential threat and not try to placate it? That just didn't seem to be Sam's way. Sam wanted to make friends, blend in, and be accepted.

"Okay, guys," was all John could think to say. "This has really gotten out of hand and I don't know what to do with either of you." There was silence as John tried to collect his thoughts. "I hate to break it to you – but you're both wrong here."

John looked at Dean and continued, "You have to control yourself. Like it or not, you don't have the authority in this family. I'm still in charge and you **_will_** treat me with some level of respect. I will not tolerate you swearing at me, walking out on me or causing any more confrontations like the one we just had. You got that?"

Dean closed his eyes and nodded hoping that would satisfy his father and a verbal response would not be required.

John turned to Sam. "And your brother is right. You have to stand up for yourself. I don't care whether you think this kid is really going to hurt you or not; he will if you just let him push you around."

"But Dad…"

John held up a finger to silence his youngest and continued, "You might think he's all mouth but you can't be sure of that. And, if you're not going to stand up for yourself, I am certainly not going to berate your brother for jumping in."

"But Dad, you don't understand," responded Sam. "Rick…."

No, Sam. I understand completely. You can't keep assuming that no one is going to hurt you. And until you realize that, Dean will watch over you. My orders."

"Daad…"

"Discussion's over." John turned away and took a deep breath. "Now you boys have to eat and I have a hunt to go on."

"I'm going with you," stated Dean as he rose from his chair.

"No you're not. I need you to stay here with Sam. We don't know what this thing is capable of."

"Which is exactly why you need me with you," insisted Dean.

"No. You're staying here. And that's final."

"But Dad, you might need me."

"Dean, am I going to have to tie you to that chair to make you do as you're told?"

"You wouldn't do that."

"Try me."


	6. Chapter 6

John had stayed at the motel just long enough to convince himself that the boys were going to settle down and not start World War III. Dean was watching TV and Sam was engrossed in his homework when John decided that it was safe for him to leave. Dean had tried insisting that he be allowed to go with him a few more times, but a quick trip to the truck for the rope – and a pair of handcuffs – had put a stop to that. As he was heading out the door, John warned them what would befall them should they choose to disobey him and leave the motel. He hoped that would be enough to ensure their obedience.

It remained relatively quiet in the small motel room for the first hour after their father left withthe boys keeping their distance from each other. Then Sam had finished his homework and became bored. He didn't like the show Dean was watching on television and couldn't find anything to entertain himself.

"Can't we watch something else?" whined Sam.

"Nope."

"I hate this show."

"So?"

"Come on, Dean," pleaded Sam.

Dean didn't seem to be as receptive to his younger brother's complaining as he usually was and Sam was pretty sure he was watching this show just to piss him off. He knew that Dean didn't really like it either but he wouldn't change the channel or even acknowledge Sam's request.

Sam decided to try a different tactic. "I'll tell Dad."

Dean glanced at his brother and smirked, "Like he'll care when he gets back in the middle of the night. Besides, you'll be asleep by then."

"Maybe not. Maybe I'll just stay up."

"I don't think so."

"Come on Dean. Can't you just be nice to me for once?"

"**_Be nice to you for once?_**" responded Dean incredulously shaking his head. "I can't believe you. All you've done is bitch at me all day. You tell me I'm a jerk for stopping some kid from beatin' you up, you leave your friend's before I get there to pick you up, you cause a scene at the park and then jump out of the car before we get home…and you want**_ me _**to be nice to **_you_**?_" _Dean just stared at his brother and shook his head.

"Well, I'm not the one who tried to strangle you," shot back Sam.

"No, you're the one who deserved it," retorted Dean. "Anyway, the stupid show is over now. Watch what you want," and he threw the remote towards Sam. Dean stood up and opened the door to go outside. "I'll be out here if you need me – but I'm sure you won't – you being thirteen, and all," he said as he closed the door.

Dean sat outside for the better part of two hours. For a while he sat in his car and listened to music and then he had sat on one of the chairs outside the motel room. He wanted to be with his father and not babysitting his annoying little brother.

Dean just didn't like the idea of his father being out there by himself when he wasn't even sure what he was fighting. His father thought that maybe it was a vampire because it seemed to crave the blood of its victims. But it could have been a shapeshifter or black dog based on some of the stories going around town. It liked to prey on sick people or expectant mothers and from the information his father had gathered, it usually ate its victim's internal organs, starting at the heart and going right down to the intestines. If it was a vampire, it must have been some sort of weird mutation.

Dean looked at his watch and realized it was 10:30 p.m. so he went back inside. Sam was asleep on his bed. He must have fallen asleep watching TV because he was still dressed and the remote was lying across his stomach. Dean picked up the remote and switched off the TV; then he grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the bed and covered his brother. Dean looked down at Sam and winced. He had left some pretty bad looking marks on Sam's neck.

'_Why were you being such a pain in the ass today, Sammy? You're usually a pretty good kid_.'

Dean watched his brother sleep for a few minutes and then decided he might as well get some sleep himself. There was nothing else to do and all he kept thinking about was his father out on the hunt. If he just went to sleep he wouldn't have to worry about him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean woke with a start. He quickly slipped his hand under his pillow and grabbed the knife that he always kept there. He lay still and listened. Nothing. He could barely see in the darkness but he could hear Sam breathing in the bed beside him.

_'Okay. Good. Can't be much if it didn't wake Sam.'_

Dean glanced at the clock – 2:00 a.m.

_'Maybe it's just Dad getting back.'_

Dean listened carefully but didn't hear any of the familiar noises he should have heard if it was his father returning form the hunt that had awoken him. He didn't hear the truck door close nor the key in lock of the motel room door. There was nothing to indicate that his father had returned, and there didn't seem to have been any reason for him to have awoken. He didn't sense any potential threats but he couldn't seem to overcome the uneasy feeling he had.

After lying still and listening for what seemed like an eternity, Dean decided that there was nothing in or around the motel to fear. But his father still wasn't back and that bothered him. Dean got out of bed and set about protecting the motel room. He spread salt around the beds and in front of the door and drew a couple of ancient protection symbols on the floor and walls of the room. Then he left a gun full of rock-salt on the bed beside his brother. As a final safety measure, Dean placed a vial of holy water on the headboard by Sam's head and, then he grabbed his knife and proceeded to the door.

He was just about to go out when he heard Sam mutter, "Where ya going?"

"Dad's not back. I'm going to find him."

"He told us to stay here."

"Yeah…Well, I think he might need my help."

"You think everybody needs your help."

"Shut-up, Sammy. Go back to sleep."

"I hope he kills you when you find him."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean drove quickly to the sub-division on the south side of town where he knew his father had gone to try to find this thing. This was the area of town where most of the victims had been found. Most of them had been found in or near their homes. There didn't seem to be anything special about this area of town but whatever was attacking people was doing it here.

Dean wasn't exactly sure where his father would be, so he cruised up and down the streets hoping to spot his father's truck. He had been driving around for about half an hour when he finally saw a truck parked at the end of a dead-end street. From the glow inside the truck, it looked like the interior light was on. There didn't appear to be anyone inside the truck, but it looked like his father's so Dean drove towards it.

As he drove closer, Dean realized that the truck was his father's and that the driver's door was ajar, which was why the interior light was on. Dean pulled the Impala quietly up behind the truck and killed the engine. Once the car had coasted to a stop, Dean got out and opened the trunk of the car. He pulled out two guns – one filled with rock-salt and the other with silver bullets – and tucked them into the back of his jeans. He already had a knife strapped to his leg and a bottle of holy water in his pocket. He grabbed the flashlight and a silver cross- just in case nothing else worked. Then he walked cautiously over to the truck.

There was blood all over the driver's seat and Dean could see blood on the steering wheel as well. It looked like something had attacked his father while he was trying to get into the truck and that his father had held onto the steering wheel in a vain attempt to stop whatever it was from dragging him from the truck.

Dean touched the blood on the seat. It was still fresh and hadn't coagulated yet. That meant that whatever had happened to his father hadn't happened long ago. Now all he had to do was find him. Dean shone his flashlight onto the road to pick up the blood trail and he followed it across the road and onto the sidewalk. The blood trail ended there, but Dean could see impressions in the grass that looked as if something had been dragged across the lawn. Dean removed one of the guns from his jeans and pointed it into the yard ahead of him. Then he started walking very quietly and carefully in the directionof the drag marks.

As he walked, Dean could see little patches of blood in the grass, which assured him that he was going in the right direction. He was just hoping that he wouldn't be too late. But he couldn't move any faster for fear of being heard by whatever had his father. So he crept silently along, listening and watching very intently.

Up ahead, near some bushes at the back of the yard, Dean saw a crumpled shape lying in the grass. He quickly dropped to one knee, hid in the shadow of the house, and aimed the gun at the object. When it didn't move and nothing seemed to be hovering around it, Dean ventured warily toward it. As he got closer, he recognized that the object in question was his father.

"Dad?" Dean whispered, hoping he could hear him. "Dad? It's Dean. You okay?"

He heard a slight groan and carefully traversed the ground ahead until he was just out of reach of his father. He surveyed the scene with the experienced eyes of a trained hunter, but it appeared that they were alone. Dean quickly made his way to his father and put his hand on his father's neck to feel his pulse. It was strong - but quick.

'_Okay. That's good. Strong pulse. Good sign.'_ "Dad? Can you hear me?"

Dean leant over his father todiscover what injuries his father had sustained. There was blood all over his face but it was the blood soaking his shirt that concerned Dean the most. He knew that this thing liked to steal internal organs. Maybe he had arrived too late.

Dean pulled his father's shirt up toinspect the wounds. Thankfully, they were only scratches – really deep scratches – but the skin was intact, which meant that his father hadn't unwillingly donated any organs to this thing. Keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings, in case this thing was lying in wait, Dean rolled his father onto his back.

"Dean…" whispered his father hoarsely.

"Dad! What the hell happened?"

"Dean," came the weak response. "We gotta get outta here. Help me up."

Dean slipped his arm around his father's neck and under his armpit and used his body to help his father get to his feet. His father leaned on him as they made their way back to the vehicles. Dean maneuvered his father into the passenger seat of the Impala and shut the door. He scanned the area one more time to be certain that they wouldn't be ambushed like his father must have been, and then he went around the car, dropped the gun on the seat and slid in beside his father.

As he backed the car down the road, he glanced at his father and asked, "What is it?"

"It's an Aswang."


	7. Chapter 7

'_An Aswang? What the fuck is that?'_

Dean stared at his father in the passenger seat beside him. He didn't look very well; his skin was ashen and his breathing shallow. Dean resisted asking him any further questions, knowing that his father was in no shape to elaborate. Dean fought an increasing urge to drive his father to the hospital. Even though his father had ended up needing his assistance, he wasn't sure how his father would react to the fact that he had directly disobeyed him by leaving the motel. And he knew that his father would not want to go to the hospital. There was no sense in trying to incur his wrath twice in the same morning. Instead Dean drove straight to the motel. He would patch him up there and let him rest.

It was nearing daylight as Dean pulled into the parking lot. People would be getting up shortly to go about their day. He had to get his father into the motel room without anyone seeing him or it would arouse suspicion. Curiosity was the last thing they needed in their line of work, especially when one of them was hurt.

Dean pulled the car parallel to the motel so he could help his father inside as quickly and easily as possible. The man was barely conscious and it took all of Dean's strength to get him into the room.

"Sammy! Get up! I need your help!" yelled Dean as he dragged his father through the door and lay him on the bed. "Get the first aid kit!"

"What…?" croaked Sam groggily as he awoke.

He opened his eyes to see Dean helping their father onto the bed. "Omigod! What happened?" he asked.

Forced awake by the sight of his father, Sam bolted off the bed and ran for the first aid kit. Sam put the first aid kit on the bed beside his father and finished helping Dean settle him comfortably on the bed. Then he went to the bathroom and grabbed a facecloth and some clean towels. He wet the facecloth with warm water before returning to the other room.

Dean ripped his father's shirt to expose the wounds and then he seized the facecloth from his brother. He carefully dabbed it over the lacerations to remove the dried blood so he could make a better assessment of the injuries. There were two sets of claw marks on either side of his father's ribs. It looked as if the Aswang had tried to hold him down to extract the desired organs. Somehow his father had managed to fend it off, but it had administered some deep gashes on his body. Dean didn't think that it had punctured any internal organs as the flow of blood had slowed, but the wounds would require stitching.

'_Shit! I hate stitching. What the hell were you thinking going by yourself? You knew you needed my help. Now I know where Sammy gets it from.'_

Dean threaded the surgical needle they kept in the medical kit and looked at his brother. "Sammy, I need you to get behind Dad and hold him still. It's gonna hurt like a sonofabitch when I start stitching him up and he's not going to like it."

Wordlessly, Sam climbed behind his father and wrapped his legs around the big man's chest. He threaded his arms under his father's arms and then folded them back to his body effectively immobilizing his father – unless he really resisted or Dean wasn't careful enough. It was the best he could do for a thirteen year-old boy. Sam nodded to Dean to begin.

John must have been hurt more than Dean had originally thought as he remained semi-conscious throughout the ordeal. There had been a minimal amount of resistance on his part and Sam had managed to keep him as still as possible. After Dean had finished sewing up the wounds, he cleansed them with antiseptic and used gauze pads to cover them. Then Sam had released his father from his grip and the two boys had tried to settle him comfortably in bed.

Dean checked the time – 8:30 a.m. All he wanted to do was climb back into bed, but he knew that his father wouldn't take too kindly to him missing school considering that he had lost sleep because he had disobeyed him. Besides, he had to get Sam to school first.

"Sam, grab a Pop Tart and get your things. I'm havin' a fast shower and then I'll drive you to school."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The events of the morning had done nothing to alleviate the tension between the two brothers and now they were sitting silently in the Impala while Dean drove Sam to school. Sam was annoyed that he wasn't being allowed to walk and had even tried to get Dean to drop him at Jake's to avoid being seen with his brother.

"Sorry, Dude. Takin' you right to school. Dad's orders."

"Aw, Come on, Dean. You've dropped me at Jake's before. It's only two blocks," pleaded Sam. "Please."

Dean glanced sideways at his brother, smirking at him, "No way Sammy."

"Jerk," mumbled Sam and he turned to look out the window. There was no use trying to reason with his brother; not after Dad had more or less ordered Dean to watch out for him. He had a feeling that this was not going to be one of his best days.

They had reached the school and Dean eased the car to the curb. He scanned the schoolyard and parking lot for any sign of Rick, not wanting to drop his brother and leave if he thought there might be trouble. But there was no sign of him anywhere.

Sam yanked the rear-view mirror to look at his reflection and lifted his chin to inspect the damage on his neck one more time; it was black and blue and, even though he had buttoned his shirt all the way to the top, the marks that Dean had made on his neck stuck out like a sore thumb. For the umpteenth time that morning he tried to adjust his shirt to cover the bruising as much as possible.

Dean watched him with a look of amusement on his face. "You're going about it all wrong, Sammy. Tell 'em you had a hot date last night. Ya never know – might be someone who'll believe a dufus like you could attract a hot chick."

"Fuck off," retorted Sam, opening the door and getting out. He slammed the door and added, "Asshole."

As Sam wandered into the schoolyard, Dean leaned across the seat and said, "Luv ya too, Sammy." He laughed when Sam responded with a one-fingered salute behind his back and then he pulled the car onto the road and headed across town to the high school.

Sam was glad to hear the school bell ring as he neared the school. After the events of the previous day, he was actually looking forward to the security that the school offered. He wasn't looking forward to running into Rick and he didn't relish the thought of seeing anyone who had witnessed what had transpired in the park either. At least he would be safe from the snide comments he knew were coming while he was in class. Lunchtime might be another story but Dean would be there to pick him upafter school so he wouldn't have to deal with the other kids.

Sam was rummaging through his locker collecting the books he needed when he was suddenly pushed from behind. He managed to put his hands out to stop himself from ending up head first in the locker. He twisted his body around to see Rick snickering at him.

"Did Big Brother go and leave you all alone today?" taunted Rick. "Who's gonna protect you now?"

"Just leave me alone Rick," replied Sam as he once again turned toward his locker.

He didn't want Rick to think he was afraid of him and figured the best way to do that was to continue gathering his things. Once he had all his books and supplies Sam turned to headfor his classroom. But Rick was still there and stood blocking his path. Rick stepped forward and bumped into Sam which caused him to fall against the lockers. Sam had expected an assault from his nemesis and hoped that by ignoring him, Rick would just get tired of tormenting him and go away. So Sam just looked down the hall and continued to lean against the lockers.

"But you and I could have so much fun together. Whaddaya say, Winchester? Just the two of us – you and me."

"I'd really rather you just left me alone."

"I'm sure you would," came the cocky reply. "But that's no fun."

"You know, Rick, I think you're an even bigger asshole than my brother," countered Sam as he hoisted himself away from the locker and faced the other boy. "And that's makes you the biggest ass I know."

Then Sam shoved Rick out of his way and headed to his classroom.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean had driven as fast as he could across town but he had been unable to make it to school before the bell rang. He'd been a good ten minutes late and ended up in the office facing the possibility of a detention.

_'Great. I really need this today.'_

He had to try to talk his way out of this, or at least convince the principal that he had to serve the detention at lunch. Of course, never would be better, but that didn't seem likely.

So he figured the best thing to do was try to act contrite and respectful. Teachers always fell for that; maybe the principal would too. Too bad he didn't do remorseful very well. Sam was better at that. He could pull off respectful so that was at least one step in the right direction.

Sitting in the chair outside the principal's office, he could just barely hear the conversation between the principal and the student currently in the office. Things didn't sound like they were going too well for the girl and the principal sounded pretty much exasperated. It didn't seem like the principal was in a very forgiving mood which wasn't boding well for him.

Finally the door opened and the other student came out; she didn't look very happy. The secretary motioned for Dean to go in.

As he walked through the door, Dean tried to give his most sincere smile, nodded his head and said "Ma'am."

Mrs. Martin did not look amused.

'_Not good.' _

Dean decided to play it cool and take his cue from the principal.

"Mr. Winchester," she stated with an air of superiority.

'_Ouch.'_

"Yes, Ma'am."

"This appears to be the ninth time this year that you've been late. Do you realize that?"

"_Nine? Hell, that's not so bad. Been worse.'_

"No, Ma'am."

"Can you tell me why you seem to have a recurring problem getting to school on time?"

'_Because demons like to play at night? And they don't seem to care when I tell them I have to be at school for 9:00 in the morning. Figure that one out.'_

Trying to look as honest and polite as he possibly could, Dean responded, "I know it's not really an excuse, Ma'am, but I have to take my brother to school before I come and he always makes me late."

Unfortunately Dean was unable to gauge whether his story was having the desired effect on Mrs. Martin as she continued to sit stone-faced in front of him.

'_Okaay…let's go for the sympathy vote.'_

"As I'm sure you are aware, my mother died when I was extremely young and it's been my responsibility to look after my brother ever since. My Dad works long hours to support us and I try to help him as much as I can."

There was still no change in Mrs. Martin's expression, but she didn't try to stop him, so Dean continued, "You see Ma'am, because we're new to town, my father doesn't like my brother to walk to school. I try real hard to get him ready on time, but, Ma'am, he's 13 and I'm sure you know what 13 year-olds are like." Dean gave her a slight smile hoping maybe a little bit of charm would work too.

Mrs. Martin eyed him for a moment before she looked down at his academic record on her desk. She seemed to be scrutinizing it very carefully.

_'Shit. I gotta get Dad to falsify my school records next time we move.'_

"Well, Mr. Winchester, I understand that you have responsibilities, but school should be one of your priorities. You can't get anywhere in life without a decent education and it appears that you are being far too frivolous with yours. According to the note written by your guidance councilor you don't even have any idea what you plan to do with you life. Is that correct?"

_'No it's not correct. But I doubt Demon Hunter would go over very well. And higher education ain't gonna help me there, Sunshine.'_

"No, Ma'am, but I have been thinking about Interior Design."

_'Interior Design? Where'd that come from?'_

"And, if you are having such a hard time getting your brother to leave for school on time or otherwise pay attention to you, then I suggest you have your father speak to him."

_'Lady, if you just knew the half of it!'_

"Yes, Ma'am, I will."

"Now, unfortunately for you, I can't let this disregard for the rules go unpunished." She gave Dean a half-smile and folded her hands on top of her desk. "You have been late nine times this year and according to what I see in front of me, you have gotten away with each infraction. Regrettably, I can't let that continue." She paused and continued staring at the young man in front of her. "You will report to room 214 immediately after school to serve your detention." With that she scribbled a few lines on the memo pad she was holding, tore off the page and handed it to Dean. "It's time for you to start taking some responsibility for your actions. Don't be late."

_'Can't be late if I'm not going.'_

"No, Ma'am."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean dashed out of the school the moment the bell rang. He didn't want to run into the principal or any other teacher who was aware of his detention. He had to get to Sammy's school before it let out for the day; he just didn't trust that Rick kid - or Sammy to defendhimself either.

Dean jumped into the Impala and tore out of the parking lot, tearing up the gravel in his attempt to get as far away from the school as fast as possible. As he rounded the corner, he glanced in the rear-view and saw the nose of a sheriff's car sticking out from behind the diner down the road. But just as Dean noticed the car, he saw it turn onto the road heading in his direction. As it got closer, the officer flipped on the flashing lights.

_'Shit. What else is gonna go wrong today?'_


	8. Chapter 8

"Where were you off to in such hurry, Son?" queried the officer as he looked at Dean through the window of the Impala.

"Just going to pick up my brother from school, Sir," responded Dean. _'This day is never gonna fucking end.'_

"Do you know why I stopped you?"

'_Because you're a prick?'_

"No, sir." Better to play dumb than to admit to anything. Then they knew they had you.

"Goin' a little too fast outta that parking lot. It's a school zone, ya know."

'_No shit.'_

"Sorry Sir."

The officer swept the interior of the car with his eyes but didn't see anything that he felt should concern him, so he simply said, "License and registration, please."

Dean, who had retrieved the items from the glove box while he was waiting for the officer to approach the car, handed them over.

The officer looked at the documents and then proceeded to take a long, slow walk around the Impala before he returned to his vehicle.

'_Come on. Come on. I don't have all day.'_

Dean glanced at his watch and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he waited impatiently for the officer. He watched the officer in the rear-view mirror for any indications of trouble but he didn't seem to be doing anything except taking his time.

After a few minutes, the officer got out of his vehicle and sauntered back to the Impala but as he came up to the car, he stopped and stared at the back of the car. He stood there for a few minutes, just looking at the car.

'_Please don't ask me to open the trunk.'_

Then the officer walked to the shoulder of the road and casually walked around the car, nonchalantly inspecting it as he walked up the passenger side, around the front and back to the driver's window.

"I noticed that you have an outstanding ticket in Michigan. Gonna clear that up soon?" asked the officer as he handed the papers back to Dean.

"Yessir. Mailed the payment last week. They should be getting' it any day."

"Good," nodded the officer. "You can go – this time. Just slow down driving through town. There'll be no mistaking this car next time I see you drivin' like that. Then I will have to ticket you," he replied taking one last look at the Impala.

"Understood, Sir."

"_Bastard."_

Dean put the car into gear and carefully set off across town. Sometimes the Impala did have its disadvantages – especially where law enforcement was concerned. It just didn't blend in with the scenery too well – no matter where he went.

As Dean approached the school, he could see a horde of teenagers congregated at the far end of the schoolyard. A feeling of dread swept over him, but he didn't want to rush to any conclusions, so he scanned the schoolyard for his brother. Sam was nowhere to be seen. As a matter of fact, the schoolyard was pretty much empty except for that one group of kids.

Dean parked the car and got out. He didn't want to appear to be too anxious about what was happening at the back of the school, so he meandered around the schoolyard trying to look more relaxed than he felt. As much as it looked like he was just strolling casually through the schoolyard, he was actually advancing on the crowd at a respectable pace. The last thing he wanted was to take his time getting there only to find that Sam was in trouble and everyone else was just enjoying the show.

As Dean drew closer, he saw that Sam was in fact the focal point of the little gathering. Dean could see Rick hovering over his brother in the center of the mob and there were two boys holding Sam's arms in an attempt to immobilize him. Sam was doing his best to try to free himself and was managing to thwart Rick's impending attack by using his legs to lash out at him.

Dean took off running toward the crowd and pushed anyone who happened to be in his way to the side. As he burst through the crowd, Dean rushed up to Rick and spun him around.

"Call off your goons," was all that he said as he and the younger boy engaged in a stare-down.

"**_Oh…look Sam_**," replied Rick sarcastically, not taking his eyes off Dean. "Big Brother's here to save you."

"He doesn't need me to save him, Asshole," answered Dean. "Just to make sure it's a fair fight."

Neither Dean nor Rick moved. It appeared as if they were both waiting for the other one to make the first move. Sam stilled in his efforts to free himself even though the two boys restraining him had not relinquished their hold.

Confident that Rick didn't pose an immediate threat to his brother, Dean slowly turned around and faced the boys holding his brother.

"Let him go," warned Dean.

Shocked by the rapid turn of events, the two teenagers let go of their captive and stepped backwards, away from Dean. They had no intention of challenging him. Even the mass of onlookers seemed to take a few steps backwards. The danger level had just risen dramatically and what had started out as a fun distraction had turned into an ominous display of alarm.

Sam stumbled forward a couple of steps when he was released. He quickly regained his balance and turned his attention to Rick. His eyes were filled with anger, but Dean also saw the unmistakable expression of pain on his brother's face as Sam readied himself for a confrontation with Rick.

Dean hadn't budged from his position and he carefully scrutinized his brother for any sign of injury. His eyes fell to Sam's right wrist, which he noticed was swollen to twice its normal size. As he continued his inspection Dean also noticed that Sam's right shoulder was sitting at an awkward angle and that Sam was having a difficult time mobilizing it.

_'Fuck. They dislocated his shoulder AND broke his wrist.'_

Dean spun around to face Rick once again, but didn't venture from his location.

Rick glanced at him and swallowed hard, but he didn't retreat. He looked back at Sam, who was steadily advancing on him. Rick could see that Sam was injured and figured that he would be easy prey – as long as Dean stayed out of it.

But Dean wasn't about to let his younger brother fight injured. He didn't care how much it would hurt Sam's pride or whether Sam would hate him for injecting himself into the fight. He wasn't going to stand by and watch his brother get hurt worse.

So Dean didn't look at Sam as he repositioned himself in front of Rick and stated, "Fight's over."

As a wicked grin spread over his face, Rick looked at Dean and responded, "I knew you were here to save his ass."

Dean closed the gap between them and stood towering over the younger boy. He didn't much care that he was at least four years older, five inches taller or 30 pounds heavier than the other boy.

"You bother my brother again, and you **_will_** answer to me. Got that?"


	9. Chapter 9

Dean loomed menacingly over Rick until the younger boy slowly slunk away. The crowds of onlookers also began to dissipate, realizing that there was nothing further to see.

Sam stormed over to his brother and stood breathing heavily in front of him.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" he accused.

Dean had known this was coming but refused to second guess his decision. "**Because you're hurt."**

"YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T INTERFERE!**"**

"**That was before I realized you were hurt!"**

"LIKE YOU'VE NEVER FOUGHT HURT!**"**

"**Yeah – I have. But you're not me!" **

The brothers squared off for a few minutes, neither one willing to admit they may have been wrong.

When they were the only two people left standing in the field, Dean took a deep breath and looked at his brother. "Sam," he began. "You can't fight like that. He'd have killed you."

"No, he wouldn't," protested Sam.

"Sam, look at yourself. Your shoulder is dislocated and I'm pretty sure your wrist is broken too."

"So what?" responded Sam. Dean had embarrassed him in front of half the school and there was no way he was going to back down.

But Dean had had enough – of both his brother and the events of the day. He was tired from lack of sleep, their father was alone and injured back at the motel, he would have to answer for skipping out on his detention, the sheriff's officer had made him late enough that Sam had been hurt, and his little brother was being unreasonable.

"What did you want me to do? Let you fight him?' he challenged. "Then after he'd kicked your ass in front of everyone, I'd have had to jump in to stop him anyway. That would have been better?"

"He wouldn't have kicked my ass."

"**_Yes_**, Sam, he would have," countered Dean. "You can't move your right arm at all – not with the injuries you have. You'd have been fighting him one-handed. There's no way you could have won."

"But I coulda tried," shot back Sam irrationally.

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Sam had not been willing to admit that his injuries might be serious enough to require medical attention so Dean figured the best thing to do would be to convince him that they had to return to the motel to check on their father. Once they were there, Dean hoped that Sam would have calmed down enough to realize how much he was hurt. They'd deal with his injuries then.

The ride back to the motel had seemed longer than usual because it was made in complete silence. Even though Dean understood why Sam was furious with him, he didn't believe that he'd had any other choice but to do what he had done. Once the adrenaline in Sam's system had started to subside, he began to feel an enormous amount of pain. He spent most of the car ride with his eyes closed, leaning back in the seat and clutching his right arm.

Dean had tried to help Sam out of the Impala when they arrived at the motel but Sam still wanted nothing to do with him. So Dean had gone inside leaving Sam to make his own way into the room.

John was lying in the bed and, at first glance it appeared that he was asleep. But when Sam had come into the room and plopped himself down in one of the chairs with a heavy sign, John had opened his eyes and looked at him.

"What happened to you?" he asked weakly.

"Fight," responded Dean matter-of-factly.

He really didn't want to get into this with his father right now. He didn't feel up to it and knew that his father wasn't up to it either. But he didn't see any way around it.

"Rick?" asked John raising his head from the pillow to get a better look at his youngest son.

"Yeah – before I got there," replied Dean.

"**_Before_** you got there?" asked John incredulously.

Dean just nodded and said, "I'll explain later."

"How bad?" inquired John trying to focus on Sam for the time being.

"Dislocated shoulder and I think his wrist is broken. I'm just gonna check it out."

"Like hell you are!" burst out Sam.

"Guys!" sighed John as he lay back down on the bed.

"Sam," replied Dean. "I know you're pissed at me but we have to find out what's wrong."

"I don't care,' retorted Sam. "You're not gonna do it!"

"SAM!" interrupted John obviously irritated. "Dean's right. You're wounded and someone has to find out what has to be done. I can't do it right now. You'll have to let Dean have a look at you."

"Fine," spat Sam infuriated with both his father and brother.

Dean went over to his brother and gingerly picked up Sam's arm, which caused Sam to wince in pain.

"Sorry, Buddy," he offered as he inspected the swollen wrist. He already knew by the way that Sam's shoulder was sitting that the shoulder was dislocated but he had been hoping that his wrist wouldn't be as badly injured. Looking at the damage, Dean was pretty sure it was broken too.

"Well, there's no question. I'm gonna have to take him to the hospital."

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When they first arrived at the hospital, the triage nurse had inspected Sam's injuries and had been more than a little concerned about the bruising on his neck. She had questioned them repeatedly, not really believing their story about a wrestling match gone wrong. But the boys had stuck steadfastly to their story, so in the end she had no reason to keep questioning them, although she did mark it on the chart.

After they had successfully dodged that bullet, the nurse had given Sam some sedatives to help him deal with the pain. The sedatives calmed Sam's nerves enough that he actually started speaking to his brother again. Dean was hoping they would prescribe some of those pills to his brother before they left, if for no other reason than to sedate his anger.

X-rays taken of Sam's shoulder and wrist proved Dean's assessment of both injuries correct and they had waited for a doctor had come and reset Sam's shoulder. After that, they had waited in the Plaster Room for a technician to put Sam's wrist in a cast.

It had been close to midnight by the time they left the hospital.

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Dean opened the door to the motel room and was surprised to see his father up and dressed. John was sitting at the small table beside the window loading his gun. He had a multitude of other weapons sitting on the table in front of him.

"What are you doing?" asked Dean as he came through the door with Sam following close behind.

"I'm going hunting."

"Dad, I don't think that's a good idea," responded Dean. "I don't think you're in any shape to hunt."

"Dean, I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Dad, you're hurt. You can't do this"

"And I can't **_not _**do this, or more people will get hurt."

"Well…this time, you're not going by yourself. I'm going with you."

"No, Dean," came the firm response.

"Dad," shot back Dean. "I'm not letting you go alone."

"No Dean," warned John. "**_I'm_** not letting **_you_** come with **_me_**."


	10. Chapter 10

Sam walked into the motel room right behind Dean and was as surprised as his brother to see his father up and dressed. When Dean had all but carried him into the room that morning, the sight of his father had disturbed Sam tremendously and he was further convinced that his father had been in really bad shape when they had stitched his wounds. John had hardly moved and had barely flinched as Dean sewed his wounds. Sam knew his father was a strong man, but he knew his father would have had a few choice words to say about Dean's stitching if he had been in any shape to notice.

As he walked past Dean on his way to the bed, Sam said tiredly, "Dad, you can't go alone. You have to take Dean with you."

Dean couldn't believe his ears; his brother had just agreed with him, which left him too stunned to reply. John was also a little taken aback by Sam's statement and just stared at his youngest son.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't paying any further attention to either of them. The combination of his injuries and the sedatives had left him exhausted and all he wanted to do was climb into bed and go to sleep. He proceeded to lie down on the bed with his back to both his father and brother.

Dean looked at his father. "You heard him. That's two against one."

"Dean," sighed John, "I think you should stay with your brother. I'm still not one hundred percent sure what this thing is capable of."

It was Sam who answered once again. "It's capable of hurting you. It did last night. You'll need help. I don't want it to hurt you again."

Dean felt Sam was arguing his case quite nicely without his help so he opted out of adding anything.

"But Sam, you're hurt too," responded John, the concern for his youngest son evident in his voice.

"Yeah, but I'm not going on a hunt. I'm going to sleep. I promise I won't get into too much trouble while I'm sleeping," Sam mumbled into his pillow. "Please take Dean with you."

John sighed. He realized the boys were right and that he did need help but he was torn between his concern for Sam and his own safety. Usually it was an easy decision: his sons' safety above all else. But tonight he was hurt and both of them were pleading with him not to go alone.

"I dunno, Sam."

"Dad, please," pleaded Sam wearily. "Besides, it's your turn to put up with him,"

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In the end, John had relented to his son's desires. He and Dean had hurriedly put all the weapons into the trunk of the Impala and then they set about protecting the motel room in much the same manner as Dean had the night before. Sam might not be getting into much trouble that night, but they didn't want risk trouble getting to him.

As Dean climbed into the driver's seat beside his father and pulled out of the parking lot he asked, "So…Mind tellin' me what this Aswang thing is that we're hunting?"

"An Aswang," began John, "Is a creature very much like a vampire. It thrives on blood, which is why it eats organs like the heart and the liver."

"But it's not a vampire?" questioned Dean.

"No. An Aswang usually takes the form of a person during the day but will change its shape to hunt at night. That's when it turns into an animal, like as a dog or a cat so it can rip its victim to pieces to eat the organs. It usually has wings so it can fly, and it's always black. Aswangs can see extremely well in the dark"

"Does it have a lair?"

"No, not really. Because they look like real people during the day, they live like people too. They live in houses or apartments and sometimes even have jobs."

"So, do you know where this one lives," asked Dean trying to figure out his father's strategy for hunting this thing.

"No, but they won't hunt in their own neighborhoods, so this thing doesn't live anywhere near the area it's been terrorizing."

"So why's it hunting there?"

"I'm pretty sure it's because there are a lot of young families living there. New sub-divisions tend to draw young couples and new families. We know it preys on expectant mothers, which makes this area a pretty rich hunting ground."

"But not all the victims have been pregnant women," stated Dean.

"Well, an Aswang will prey on anything that can't defend itself. It'll go after babies, children or someone who's sick," declared John. "They have a nasty reputation and they're brutal but they really aren't that brave. They'll retreat from anything that has the ability to protect itself. "

"Is that how you were able to get away from it?"

"Pretty much. It snuck up on me. It knew I was there looking for it and I think that it thought if it surprised me, it would be able to kill me."

"I guess it didn't do its homework," smirked Dean.

"Guess not," replied John. "Must be related to you."

They had pulled onto the street where John's truck remained from the night before. Once again Dean pulled the Impala to a stop behind his father's truck and the two hunters got out of the car.

As Dean stepped from the car, he asked, "What kills an Aswang, anyway?"

"Salt," responded John as he headed toward the truck. "But we have to get the salt right inside this thing's stomach to kill it or else we'll just piss it off. Likewise, silver bullets should do the trick."

Dean opened the trunk and pulled out the two guns that were stored in there. He decided to carry the gun that was filled with the rock-salt and tucked the other one into the back of his jeans. Both he and his father agreed that it was better to be prudent and try to shoot their quarry with rock-salt first than it would be to end up shooting bullets into something other than their intended target. That was why, if there was a choice, they always started with the least dangerous weapon. If bullets would be required, they were just a quick reach away.

Dean joined his father on the road between the two vehicles. "Which way?" he asked.

Nodding in the direction where Dean had found him earlier that morning, John replied, "That house. The woman who lives there is due to give birth any day. It was going after her last night when I found it. I'm sure it'll be back tonight. It's bound to be hungry. I stopped it from getting its meal last night."

The two hunters started across the road and Dean asked, "How's it gonna get to her?"

"It will sit on the roof and wait until she's asleep – that's when she is the most vulnerable – and then it will go in through the bedroom window. Her room is the second window from the left at the back of the house."

"Are there kids in the house?" queried Dean, wondering whether they had be concerned for anyone else in the house should the Aswang not be able to get to its preferred target.

"No, this is their first. And I think the husband works nights, so she's alone. Another reason she's high on this thing's grocery list."

"Lucky her," remarked Dean.

They had reached the back of the house and John had motioned Dean to get down and out of sight. The backyard was in total darkness and they would have to be extremely careful when they made their way across the yard to the bushes at the back in order to watch the house secretly. If the Aswang was already there, it would see them before they saw it.

Dean knew his father was planning on crawling across the yard to take up position at the back of the property while Dean covered him, but Dean didn't think that was the safest plan. It made much more sense for Dean to go and have his father stay in the shadows at the side of the house. He wasn't injured and would be more agile so he would be able make it to the back of the yard with less difficulty.

"Dad, you cover me," whispered Dean as he crept in front of his father. "I'll go."

John knew his son's reasons for determining that he would be the one to venture through the yard and he agreed. This was not a father/son escapade. It was a life or death hunt. And on a hunt, they were professionals and partners. Second-guessing or bickering with each other could get them killed.

John motioned for Dean to stick close to the fence at the border of the property and he positioned himself at the extreme edge of the house so he could see if anything flew from the roof or over the yard. He'd be able to shoot it before it attacked Dean if it saw him while he was relocating. With his father in position, Dean commando-crawled to the shrubbery at the back the yard. Once there, he leaned back into the undergrowth and surveyed the roof of the house.

At first Dean didn't see anything on the roof but he waited until his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light before he signaled his father. Just as he was about to indicate to John that it was safe to join him, he saw what appeared to be a dark form sitting very still on the opposite side of the chimney. He wasn't certain if it really was some sort of life-form as it was sitting in the darkness, but it didn't look like a typical chimney shadow to his trained eyes. He indicated to his father that he should stay where he was and Dean sunk further back into the scrubs to remain out of sight. His father had told him that Aswangs had excellent eyesight and Dean wasn't sure whether it had seen him as he inched across the yard. He didn't think so as it was sitting on the far side of the chimney but he couldn't be sure. So far the creature hadn't stirred but that didn't mean that the two of them weren't involved in a very dangerous standoff. Dean was concealing himself as added protection in case the Aswang had detected him.

John kept himself hidden in the shadows at the side of the house. He alternated between watching Dean and the back of the house. He didn't have the best line of sight from where he was, but if the Aswang flew from the roof to the woman's bedroom window or over to Dean's location, John would be ready. And he realized that his best advantage at the moment was that the Aswang didn't know he was there; he wasn't sure if it had seen Dean or not so his best course of action was to stay right where he was.

For five minutes nothing happened and nothing moved. Dean was beginning to wonder whether the shadow was just that, when he saw a slight movement from the being on the roof. He signaled to his father.

John's injuries had started to bother him and he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable crouching beside the house. But as soon as he saw Dean signal that something was about to happen, John forgot his physical problems and returned to high alert status for whatever might transpire.

The Aswang rose slowly from its seat beside the chimney. Dean could see that it was huge and it appeared to have taken the shape of a cat.

_'More like a cheetah on steroids'_

As Dean watched it, the Aswang moved stealthily to the edge of the roof. Dean raised his gun and from the corner of his eye could see his father do the same thing. Dean was too far away to be able to get a good shot at the creature but it never hurt to be ready.

'_Here Kitty, Kitty.'_

Dean knew that once it left the relative safety of the roof, the Aswang would expose itself to his father, giving him an excellent opportunity to shoot it. Dean would provide backup.

The moon had appeared from behind the cloud cover for a moment briefly illuminating the backyard and John could just barely make out the shadow of the Aswang reflecting on the ground. He knew exactly where it was and where it would be heading once it made its move, an advantage that he was more than happy to have.

The Aswang didn't appear to be in a hurry to find its prey. It stood silently at the edge of the roof and looked out over the yard. Dean wondered whether it actually knew he and his father were there or if it was contemplating flying away. But he knew better than to move and reveal his position. He glanced at his father who was waiting patiently despite his injuries.

Suddenly the Aswang crouched and with an exaggerated leap, flew from the roof. It didn't appear to be heading for either the window or the young hunter. Both men were caught off guard by its flight pattern, but didn't lose the creature from their sights. The Aswang made a slow dive around the yard and then headed in the direction of the bedroom window.

As it ventured closer, John raised his gun and aimed at the thing's stomach. His gun was powerful enough to break the Aswang's skin if he waited until the right moment to fire. Once it was injured, he and Dean would be able to pump it full of rock-salt before it could recover. This looked like an easy kill, even if John was injured.

Dean watched the Aswang take a long, winding loop around the yard and he wondered again whether it sensed that something wasn't right. But as the creature flew to the window, Dean cautiously raised himself up to be able to sprint toward the house once his father shot it. They would need the rock-salt from his gun to finish this thing off.

The Aswang finished its flight over the yard with a low-flying plunge close to the ground before it began to ascend toward the window. But before it reached the window, it caught sight of John's movements as he aimed at it and it turned quickly in John's direction. With a powerful trust of its wings, the Aswang overcame the distance between them.

John managed to get a badly aimed shot off at the Aswang before it was on top of him. The rock-salt hit the creature on its leg but did not deter it. In fact, it only appeared to make the being more irate and it struck out at John with its tail. John turned sideways to avoid being hit, but the Aswang grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him from the ground.

Dean witnessed the Aswang's attack on his father and burst from his hiding spot in the bushes, firing his gun as he ran. The rock-salt hit the Aswang in the back and it turned to face Dean, still holding John tightly. It hovered just above the ground and appeared to be taunting Dean. As John struggled to free himself, Dean threw the now useless gun at the Aswang to distract it from his father's actions knowing instinctively that he would go for his knife.

John had used one of his hands to grab the small pocket-knife that he kept in the breast pocket of his shirt. It wouldn't kill the Aswang but if he jabbed it into the creature with enough force, it might cause it to lose its grip and release him. At the same time, Dean had seized the gun from the back of his jeans. As he aimed the gun to fire at the creature, John had thrust the blade of the small knife into one of the creature's feet that was holding him at the shoulder. As Dean discharged his weapon, the creature flung itself backward, which caused the bullet to hit its wing instead of the heart as Dean had intended.

The simultaneous assaults on the Aswang were too much for it and it released John from its grasp and he fell to the ground. Dean again fired at the Aswang, but the creature had sprung up considerably when it had let go of its hostage and the bullet struck it in the hip. The Aswang recoiled from the two hunters and flew off into the night.

Dean raced to his father's prone shape to see if he was okay, but John sat up before Dean was able to reach him.

"DAD!"

"I'm okay," uttered John. "A few more scratches but nothing like last night." He pulled himself up and looked at his son. "It's not done hunting. It's hungry and won't be able to mend its wounds until after it's eaten."

"Then we have to go after it," said Dean. "Before it finds a new meal."

John looked at his son. "It'll go after someone weaker than itself. It's angry."

"Yeah…at us," added Dean.

The two men looked at each other as a revelation hit them both at the same time.

"SAM!"


	11. Chapter 11

The Aswang flew high in the night sky, undetected by humans or animals as it headed for the east side of the city. It had a new objective in mind; an obtainable meal without the threat of intervention from those bothersome hunters.

It had hoped that the hunter had been too severely wounded to pursue it after their battle the previous morning and that was why it had remained fixated on the young human. She was the perfect meal; a young woman ripe with a full-term baby. She would have quenched the Aswang's appetite for more than a few days by providing two sets of organs and twice the blood as a single human meal. An ideal feast for a hungry Aswang.

But the hunter had returned, this time with help, denying him his food once again, and the Aswang had been forced to flee after they had injured it. The damage they had caused added to its need to obtain sustenance, for now it had wounds that required mending. The Aswang would not be able to restore itself to a healthy state until it acquired sufficient blood to satisfy its hunger and to be able to divert the excess to the caring and healing of its wounds.

So it needed to kill. And it needed to kill as soon as possible. The longer it went without food, the weaker it would get. It had to find a meal immediately. And the Aswang knew where it would find a choice, easy target – a young, injured human left alone by the very hunters it had just fled.

They were too far away to help the young one. So the Aswang gave a powerful flap of its bat-like wings and soared across the sky toward its prey. It was only a matter of minutes.

It would eat well tonight.

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John and Dean gathered the discarded weapons in record time and dashed to the vehicles. They had agreed that it would be best to return to the motel in their respective vehicles, so they could approach it from opposite directions. John would drive straight into the parking lot and meet the Aswang head on. Dean would swing around behind the motel and come in from the rear of the building. This would provide them with two separate vantage points for their attack.

John estimated that the Aswang would arrive at the motel at least fifteen minutes before either he or Dean would. That would give the creature ample time to lure Sam from the safety of the room. John and Dean had protected the motel room before they left, but they had forgotten one very important detail. No one had bothered to tell Sam what they were fighting. Sam had been too tired to ask and neither Dean nor John had thought it important at the time. They were going to kill this thing and Sam would be safe in the motel.

But that was just it. Sam would remain safe only as long as he remained inside the motel. But he was ill and had been given medicine at the hospital to combat the pain. And while the sedatives would no doubt accomplish that goal, they would also affect Sam's mind. He would not be thinking clearly and that would put him in danger.

The two eldest Winchesters drove to the motel as if a life depended on it. And Sam's did.

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The Aswang reached the motel in just a few short minutes, but before it began its descent, it slowly circled the building looking for enemies and threats. But it was well past midnight and the parking lot and nearby streets were empty. So the creature dropped silently from the night sky onto the roof of the motel.

The Aswang gently placed its back paws on the roof and slowly brought its lithe body down over its sleek muscular legs until it sat motionless on its haunches. It folded its gigantic, leathery black wings over its back and stared out into the surrounding area. Its luminescent green eyes were the only concrete evidence that it was actually there; the remainder of its body was concealed in the blackness of the night.

The creature sat stock-still as it sniffed out its prey. It knew that the young human was in one of the rooms below it, but it was uncertain exactly which one. It closed its sphere-shaped eyes and entrusted its keen sense of smell to close in on its meal.

Soon, the Aswang had determined where its unsuspecting prey lay waiting and it crept noiselessly to the edge of the roof and sat above the door. It could hear its quarry breathing, deep and rhythmic, sure signs that it was asleep and defenseless.

But the creature could sense something else; something that would make it almost impossible for it to reach its chosen victim. There was a substance present in area around the young human that the Aswang could not circumvent. Salt. It could smell the salt from its perch and knew that the room was impenetrable.

But that didn't mean that its prey was safe and beyond reach. It only meant that the creature would have to be cunning and patient. Sick humans were more vulnerable than most others as their weakened physical states altered their thought processes and they were more apt to act recklessly.

The Aswang swung its large, muscular tail over the edge of the roof and let it hang limply in front of the door while it continued to survey the area. Confident that there was no one watching, it began to tap the door lightly with tip of its tail, just loud enough for the human inside to hear.

Inside the motel, Sam was sleeping soundly, his body completely overcome by fatigue and his subconscious subdued by the drugs.

At first, he remained oblivious to the tapping on the door but he slowly started to stir as the unrelenting noise filtered into his brain. Sam tossed and turned a few times in a futile attempt to ignore the sound, but after a few minutes, he was alert enough to recognize the tapping on the door.

"Aww, Dean," he muttered. "Use your fucking key," and he covered his head with his pillow hoping to drown out the incessant tapping.

The Aswang had heard him speak and had recognized that its victim was stirring. In just a few more moments it would have its meal. The creature licked its lips and increased the tapping slightly, now impatient in its efforts to lure its victim from the safety of the room.

"Dean! Don't be a jerk!" snapped Sam a little louder.

The tapping continued, further arousing Sam from his slumber. Still, Sam fought the inclination to awaken and tightened his grip on his pillow, forcing it closer to his ears, but he was unable to disregard the annoying patter.

The tapping was fraying his nerves and, in annoyance, Sam sat up quickly, forgetting his injuries. The sudden movement left him wincing in pain, increasing his level of irritation to an all-new high. Angry, frustrated and only half-awake, Sam got up from the bed and stormed over to the door.

"Dean, I'm gonna fucking kill you."

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Dean had followed his father's truck across town until they were a couple of blocks away from the motel. Then he had turned onto a side street in order to drive up to the back of the motel. As he neared the building, he removed his foot from the gas pedal, letting the car coast closer to his destination until he came to a stop. There was no sense warning the Aswang that he had arrived.

As he quietly exited the Impala, Dean could hear the sounds of his father's truck emanating from the front of the building. Now that they were both here, they were ready to kick some Aswang butt.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John drove across town like a man possessed; his youngest son's life was at stake and he'd be damned if that Aswang was going to get to him.

John knew that the creature would see him coming as he approached the motel so there was no need to conceal his arrival. Besides, the more noise he made, the sooner he would attract its attention away from Sam.

The tires squealed as John turned sharply into the motel parking lot. John could just barely make out the shape of the Aswang on the roof above his motel room. He could see that the door to the motel room was closed, which meant that Sam was safe inside. John thanked whatever lucky stars he might have that he had not been too late to save his son.

But as he drove nearer to the motel, John watched in horror as the door to the motel room swung violently open.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open with all his might. As the door swung toward him, Sam pivoted and stomped back toward his bed.

"Jerk!" he grumbled as he retreated

John saw the motel room door swing open and floored the gas pedal in an attempt to reach the building before the Aswang had a chance to capture Sam. But, as he neared the motel, John noticed that Sam had not actually approached the doorway. He could see Sam heading back toward the interior of the room.

"Oh, thank God," he muttered.

Dean had heard his father's truck accelerate and wondered whether they had arrived too late to save his brother. He dashed around the side of the motel just in time to see the truck stop mere inches from the front of the building. He saw the shadow of the Aswang sitting on the roof above the door to their room, so he hastily lifted his weapon and aimed at the creature.

At the same time, he saw his father exit the truck with his gun aimed at the Aswang. Dean knew that his father was close enough to severely injure the creature once he fired, and that all he would have to do would be to shoot the thing to finish it off. So he decided to refrain from shooting it until after his father fired.

But John did not fire.

The sound of the truck advancing on the motel room had finally roused Sam from his stupor and he had turned to investigate the approaching racket. The sight of his father's truck barreling toward him startled him and he had initially jumped backwards, fearful that the truck would ram the building. But, once the truck screeched to a halt, Sam had ventured out to find out what was going on.

Just as John was ready to fire on the Aswang, Sam stepped through the door. "Dad?" he queried, still somewhat groggy.

"SAM! GET BACK!" commanded his father.

Sam's sudden appearance at the door had diverted John's attention from the Aswang just long enough for him to lose both his concentration and his chance at shooting the creature. The Aswang knew it had been in grave danger and used this opportunity to escape. With a few potent thrusts of its gigantic wings, it was quickly out of range of the hunter below.

But it had made a serious error as it flew away from the motel; it had headed in the direction where Dean had concealed himself. Dean was able to fire at the creature as it neared him and the well-aimed shot had hit the Aswang squarely in the abdomen. But the distance had been too great for the rock-salt to penetrate the Aswang's skin and had simply wounded it again. With a deep growl, the Aswang flew off into the night.

The three Winchesters watched the creature soar away. Dean joined his father and brother in front of the motel room and waited for his father to provide him with new directives.

Instead, John walked towards Sam and embraced him gently. "Sam," he said as he took hold of the boy's shoulders and then drew himself back to gaze at him, "I'm glad you're okay."

Sam looked quizzically between his father and brother and responded, "Okay? Of course I'm okay. Dean's the idiot who forgot his keys."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John had opted out of pursuing the Aswang again. It was almost 5 a.m. and the sun would begin to rise soon. As it was, people were beginning to awaken to start their day. John's flamboyant arrival at the motel had not gone unnoticed by some of the other patrons of the establishment and more than a few heads had popped out of various doors wondering what had caused all the commotion.

John didn't feel that the Aswang would risk preying on someone else with the encroaching daylight. And it would revert to its human form once the sun rose, so it would have little time to pursue another meal. But he also knew that its injuries would make it a much more lethal adversary when they picked up its trail that coming night. It was severely wounded and would be willing to take risks that it might otherwise not consider in order to obtain sustenance. But he'd worry about that later. Right now his family was his main priority.

All three Winchesters retired to the motel room to try to get at least a couple hours of sleep. Sam had climbed back into bed not bothering to inquire about the hunt and Dean had flung himself onto the bed without so much as removing his shoes; two nights without sleep had caught up with him and he drifted to sleep almost immediately. John had gone to the bathroom to inspect and cleanse his wounds before he, too, crawled exhausted into his bed.

At 7:45 a.m. Sam's alarm clock startled them all awake. Dean had automatically reached for the knife under his pillow and John had pulled his gun out and aimed it at the offensive object. Sam was the only one of the three who woke without feeling the need to protect himself. He took one look at both his father and his brother, shook his head and wandered into the bathroom to prepare for the day ahead.

After a couple of false starts, the Winchester men found themselves in the diner of the small motel eating breakfast. Injuries and lack of sleep had left the three of them completely worn out and they barely spoke except to order their meal.

After John finished eating and the waitress had come and topped up his coffee one more time, he leaned back in his seat and looked at his sons.

"Sam, I think you might want to stay home from school today," he began.

"Uh uh," replied Sam as he finished his last bite of toast. "No way, Dad."

John and Dean exchanged glances but neither spoke.

"I have to go to school," continued Sam. "Tomorrow will be worse if I don't go today."

"How's that?" questioned John, not fully understanding his son's train of thought.

"Because," answered Sam, "If I don't go, they'll think I'm afraid of Rick and I'll be the laughingstock of the whole school." He looked angrily at Dean as he added, "If I'm not already."

"Aww, Jeez, Sam," Dean shot back. He had hoped that Sam might have finally understood why he had stepped in to stop the fight, but apparently that wasn't the case. "Are you still on that?"

"Still on what?" interceded John.

"The little bastard is still pissed at me for not letting Rick beat on him," responded Dean, exasperation evident in his voice.

"That's because you said you'd stay out of it!" retorted Sam indignantly.

John slammed his fist down on the table, which succeeded in not only getting his sons' attention, but that of everyone else in the diner too. He glared at the two boys but refrained from speaking until it seemed that everyone else had returned to their own affairs.

"Sam," he said, staring fiercely at Dean as a warning to remain silent, "Why would you be the laughingstock of the school?"

"Because, **_he_**," continued Sam, glancing at his brother, "Came barreling into the fight between Rick and I."

"That's not fair," injected Dean irritably. His father's hand on his arm stopped him from adding anything else.

"**_Why_** did he do that?" queried John as he tightened his grip on Dean's arm, letting him know that he expected the answer to come from Sam.

"Because he's a jerk!" responded Sam, standing up to leave.

John grabbed Sam's uninjured arm with his free hand and used his hold on him to guide him back into his seat. Once he was seated, John glowered at the two boys and again asked Sam, "**_Why_** did Dean get involved in the fight?"

"Because he didn't think I could win."

"And **_why_** did he think that?" asked John forcefully.

"I dunno," shrugged Sam almost inaudibly.

"Yes…**_you do_**," stated John, making it very clear that he wanted Sam to explain why Dean had intervened.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he answered. "Because it looked like I was losing."

"**_Looked like?_**" countered Dean, before he was silenced by a vicious glare from his father.

"And…**_were you_**?" asked John, intent on keeping control of the conversation.

"No," stated Sam emphatically.

"Oh**_…come on!_**" replied Dean, unable to believe what he had just heard.

"**_Dean_**," warned John through clenched teeth. "I'm **_not_** going to tell you again. Sam's talking. You'll have your chance in a minute." He turned his attention back to Sam. "So when did you get the broken wrist and dislocated shoulder?"

"Before Numb-Nuts got there," answered Sam looking directly at Dean, as if it was his fault.

"**_Before_** he got there?" asked John incredulously. "But you weren't losing?"

"**_No_**," snapped Sam with all the righteous indignation of a wronged thirteen year-old.

John released his hold on both boys and covered his face with his hands. He couldn't believe how difficult this was turning out to be. He thought it had been hard to deal with the boys when Dean was a preschooler and Sam was a baby. He could deal with demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves – anything, except maybe teenagers. This was harder than he would ever have believed.

"Okay," he tried. "Let me get this straight," and he paused before he continued. He looked at Sam as he spoke. "You and Rick were fighting. Rick broke your wrist and dislocated your shoulder. But things were going okay?"

"Uh huh," nodded Sam.

"Then Dean showed up?"

Again Sam nodded.

"And he jumped into the fight?"

"No." stated Sam matter-of-factly.

"No?"

"No…He stopped it."

"He stopped the fight?"

"Yeah…He told Rick the fight was over."

John shook his head slowly and closed his eyes. Then he looked back at Sam and said, "He just went up to Rick and told him the fight was over?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"And what does _'pretty much'_ mean?" asked John, his frustration showing.

"Well…He told Rick the fight was over and not to bother me again."

"And that was it? The fight was over and he left?"

"Yeah."

John swiped his hand across his eyes. Some things in Sam story just weren't coming together and he wondered why it was so hard to drag information out of teenagers. Maybe Dean could fill in the missing pieces.

John turned to his eldest son and asked, "Anything you care to add?"

"Tons," stated Dean as he glanced at his brother. "Like what really happened."

"Okay," countered John. "We're going to continue this in a civilized manner. Just tell me what happened from when you first got there."

"Okay," said Dean. "I was late. I got stopped by the cops on my way to the school. So by the time I got there, everyone was pretty much gone, except for a group of kids way in the back of the schoolyard. I couldn't see Sammy anywhere, so I parked the car and wandered over to where everyone was gathered. As I got closer, I saw that two kids were holding Sam while Rick was trying to attack him."

"Just a minute," interrupted John quickly. This was new. "Two kids were holding Sam?"

"Yeah. They had his arms pinned back and were holding him still. Sam was fending Rick off by using his legs." Dean looked at Sam as he stated with just a hint of pride, "He wasn't doing half bad, either."

"So then what happened?" inquired John, beginning to understand why Dean had probably gotten involved.

"I went up to Rick and told him to call off his goons," shrugged Dean. "And then I told the two kids to let him go."

"And that was it?" asked John.

"No, that wasn't it," complained Sam. "Dean told Rick he wasn't there to help me – just to make sure it was a fair fight." Then he added with irritation, "But then he just jumped back in anyway and told Rick it was over."

"Not quite," sighed Dean. John didn't intercede so Dean continued, "Once they let go of Sammy, I looked him over. That's when I noticed that he was hurt. And there was **_no way_** I was going to let him fight hurt. So I walked over to Rick and told him the fight was over."

And that's it?" asked John one more time.

"Yeah…except he was being a smartass, so I told him if he bothered Sam again, he'd have to answer to me."

John sunk his head into his hands once again and sighed. No wonder Dean had intervened. And why couldn't Sam understand that he had been too hurt to fight? He already knew the answer to that question: Because Sam was thirteen and didn't want Dean to be his guardian angel. But Dean had been right in not letting him fight while he was hurt.

Being a parent was harder than anything else he had ever done in his life.

After briefly trying to convince Sam that Dean had done the right thing, John had let the matter drop. Sam had been annoyed with both of them but John knew he would eventually get over it. Besides, it was his job to keep Sam safe; not be his friend. And Dean picked up the slack on both ends when John couldn't.

Sam had remained adamant that he go to school. He was going to face Rick – and everyone else at school – regardless of what his father or brother thought he should do. Nobody was going to call him a coward; he'd see to that – on his own. So when Dean drove him to school, Sam convinced him to let him off just before the school so he could walk onto the school property by himself.

But as Sam closed the door to the Impala, his confidence wavered just a bit and he looked back at Dean. "You'll be here to pick me up, right? You won't be late?"

Dean resisted the urge to smirk at his brother and simply said, "I'll be here."

Sam walked into the schoolyard and Dean watched him until he met up with a group of friends and then he pulled the Impala around and set off for the high school.

Sam was surprised to discover that his day had actually gone better than he had anticipated. Rick never came around to bother him, although Sam had caught him glaring at him more than a few times. But he had kept his distance. There were a few snickers from the other kids in the hallways, but for the most part, things looked as if they might actually be okay. Maybe this whole thing would blow over and be forgotten.

Dean, on the other hand, had a few problems that weren't going to simply blow over. He had made it to school on time, but had been called to the office from his homeroom. Mrs. Martin had not been amused that he had skipped out on his detention and had handed him two more. He would have to serve them in the office during his lunch hour for the next three days. Mrs. Martin wanted to keep a close eye on him.

And he'd had an English test that he had forgotten about. Actually, he had forgotten to read the book. He was pretty sure he had flunked that one.

At least he was able to leave on time to pick up Sam.

And he made sure that he didn't rip up the gravel on his way out of the school lot. No sense raising the ire of the sheriff or his deputies.

Dean pulled the Impala up to the curb in front of Sam's school just as the bell rang. He decided to wait in the car instead of getting out. If he got out and leaned against the car like he usually did, it would probably give the impression that he was some kind of thug. And Sam was mad enough at him already. No point in pissing him off any more either. But he did open the driver's door and leave it ajar – just in case.

Dean watched as Sam emerged from the school and immediately headed toward the Impala. No one seemed to be following him and Sam even appeared to be in an okay mood, giving Dean a quick wave to acknowledge that he had seen him.

As Sam slid into the passenger seat, Dean asked, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," responded Sam with a slight nod.

They rode in silence to the motel only this time it didn't seem as awkward. As Dean pulled the car into a parking space, the door to their motel room opened and his father stood leaning against the door frame, waiting for them. He didn't look too happy.

As Dean got out of the car, he looked at his father and asked, "What's up?"

"Just got a call from the sheriff," came the gruff response.

"The sheriff? About what?" inquired Dean.

"About you."

"Me? What about me?"

"They want me to bring you down to the station. They received a complaint from a Mr. And Mrs. Leavey. Apparently they want to file assault charges against you."


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's note:_

_Just a suggestion…_

_It might be a good idea to go back and familiarize yourself with chapter 2. Something is mentioned in that chapter that carries forward into this chapter and possibly some others. I'm just saying that it might make it a bit easier to follow._

_And…thanks again for reading!_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

**_"Assault?"_** asked Dean, in disbelief.

"That's what they told me."

"That's nuts," continued Dean._ 'I never assaulted anybody.' _He was trying to remember whom he might have had an altercation with that would have gone to the sheriff, but he was drawing a blank. "Who'd you say filed the complaint?" he asked as he approached his father.

John didn't budge from his position in the doorway and remained blocking Dean's way. "People named Leavey. Ring a bell?" His tone left absolutely no doubt how disturbed he was by this latest turn of events.

"Leavey?" reiterated Dean, looking questionably at his father. _'Robin?...But I didn't do anything to make him go to the sheriff.'_

Sam had picked up his schoolbooks from the floor of the Impala and had followed Dean up to the motel. "Rick," he stated as he came up behind his brother, "His last name's Leavey."

Dean slowly turned to face his brother. "Rick….is Rick Leavey?"

"Yeah," nodded Sam matter-of-factly. He tried to go around his brother but Dean's hand on his chest stopped him.

"And let me guess," persisted Dean, "He has a brother named Robin."

Sam took a step backwards to separate himself from his brother's hand and proceeded to go around him but stopped just before he reached the doorway. "Somethin' like that. Quarterback on the high school football team."

"Aww, fuck," declared Dean, "I can't believe this."

"Can't believe what?" asked John, wondering what Dean was not telling him.

"Nothin'," grumbled Dean, obviously having no intention of sharing his thoughts at the moment. _'Of course Robin has a brother, who just HAPPENS to be the same kid who's givin' Sammy a hard time.'_

John watched the expression on Dean's face and knew that something more than the possible assault charge was bothering him. "Anything I should know?"

"**_No_**," Dean shot back emphatically. None of this made sense. He hadn't touched Rick and the only time he and Robin had had physical contact had been in gym class. That had been completely legit and he couldn't see how that could result in an assault charge.

John moved away from the doorframe and motioned for Sam to proceed inside. He didn't think that Sam needed to be involved at this point, at least until they found out exactly what kind of trouble Dean was in.

John sighed, something he'd done a lot of in the past couple of days, but his tone had softened as he looked back at Dean and asked, "Do you know how the law defines assault, Sport?"

"What is this – twenty questions?" countered Dean, noticeably upset. "I dunno – hitting someone, I guess."

"No," answered his father calmly. "That's battery."

His frustration apparent, Dean snapped, "Well, what the fuck's the difference?"

John decided to pick his battles with his oldest son and ignored his choice of language. "Assault is when you threaten to hit someone. Battery is when you actually do it"

He stood quietly and waited for Dean to absorb what he had just told him. Dean's brow furrowed as he contemplated this new information.

"So it's Rick…I threatened him." He looked at his father, still a little puzzled as to what was happening. "And they're charging me with assault?"

"Looks like," answered John. "That's why we have to go talk to the sheriff."

"What about what **_he_** did to Sam?" challenged Dean.

"Not sure they know anything about that," replied John. "Anyway, we better get down there before they send someone to pick you up." Then he addressed Sam as he spoke, "I want you to stay in the room. Don't go anywhere and don't let anyone in. You got that?"

"Yes Sir," responded Sam recognizing his father's words were an order, not a request.

John moved away from the door and started toward the truck. As he opened the driver's door, he glanced back at Dean and said, "Come on. Let's go straighten this out."

Dean glanced in the motel room at Sam, who gave him a small half-smile and almost looked like he wanted to apologize. But neither brother said anything and Dean spun around and headed to the truck. After Dean had settled into his seat and shut the door, John reversed the truck out of the parking spot and drove toward the Sheriff's office.

During the ride to the sheriff's office, Dean leaned against the door of the truck, lost in his own thoughts. _"This can't have anything to do with Robin. He wouldn't stoop low enough to get his brother to go after Sam just to get back at me for going out with Nancy. There's no way. It's just gotta be coincidence.'_

But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, Dean just couldn't shake the feeling that everything that had occurred in the last few days was somehow all tied together and all the responsibility for what had happened to Sam rested squarely on his shoulders.

Although John tried not to show it, he was worried too. He didn't know this Rick kid, but if Sammy was any indication, Dean had to be at least four inches taller and 25 pounds heavier – not to mention a good four years older. And regardless of what the kid had done to Sam, it still wouldn't justify Dean threatening him – not in the eyes of the law anyway. The best he could hope for was that the kid's parents were reasonable people and didn't know the whole story. Maybe once they all sat down together, things would work out. But he had his doubts; while demons and all the other inhuman things he had hunted for the past twelve years were predictable, people usually weren't.

When they arrived at their destination, John parked the truck and the two Winchester males vacated the truck. John started walking toward the station but Dean hung back near the truck.

John turned and looked at him. "Come on Sport," he called. And with a confidence he didn't quite feel, he added, "It won't be that bad."

Dean took a deep breath and headed toward his father._ 'Not for you. And once they're done with me, I'm sure you'll have a few choice things to say to me yourself. Oh, this is just gonna be a piece a' cake.'_

John held the door for his son and entered the sheriff's office behind Dean, who stopped just inside the door and waited for his father. John walked past him and headed for the counter. As he neared the deputy behind the front desk, he introduced himself. "I'm John Winchester and this is my son Dean. We're here to see Sheriff Durham."

The deputy nodded and said, "He's in the back. Be out in a minute if you just want to take a seat."

John and Dean sat down to wait for the sheriff. A few minutes later the sheriff came and introduced himself; then he led them into an empty room in the back of the station and motioned for them to take a seat at the table that filled most of the small room.

When John and Dean had taken a seat, the sheriff opened the folder he had brought with him and addressed Dean directly, "Looks like you've got yourself in a little bit of trouble, Son."

Dean swallowed hard but didn't respond. One thing he had learned in his life was that it was always best to let the other side present their case before he tried to explain his side. Never knew when you might give away more than they knew or just make things worse.

Sheriff Durham continued, "Seems you've been intimidating a boy by the name of Rick Leavey." He looked up from the papers in front of him. "You know him?"

"Yes Sir." No point arguing that one.

"Any truth to these allegations?" questioned the sheriff.

Dean glanced at his father, who remained silent. "Yes Sir." He paused before he added, "But I can explain."

"Oh, please do, Son," said the sheriff as he took a seat across the table from the Winchesters.

'_Condescending bastard.' _"Well, Sir," Dean began, "This Rick Leavey kid has been harassing my brother. I'd been kinda keeping an eye on the two of them, just to watch what's been going on. But yesterday, when I arrived at the school to pick up my brother, the two of them were involved in a fight. "

The sheriff leaned back in his seat, but didn't interrupt. Dean looked at his father again but John was sitting patiently listening to what Dean had to say.

"When I went over to see what was going on, there were two other boys holding my brother and I told them to let him go."

"Yeah," injected the sheriff, "I heard about that too."

' _What the hell did you hear?' _"Anyway," continued Dean, "When they let go of Sam, I noticed that he was hurt pretty bad and that both he and Rick wanted to continue fighting."

"You notice a lot of things, don't you, Son?"

'_What's that supposed to mean?' _"Yes Sir. When it comes to my brother, I do." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his father smirk just a little bit.

"Well, go on," encouraged Sheriff Durham.

"Well, I didn't want my brother to fight this kid, so I stepped in to stop them."

"And how exactly did you do that?"

"I walked up to Rick and told him that the fight was over."

"You realize that's where you made your first mistake, don't you, Son?" asked the sheriff.

_I'm not your son, you bastard, so stop calling me that.' _"No Sir," and he waited for the sheriff to elaborate.

"Well Son, you should have told your brother it was over. You never should have approached the other boy."

"But Sam was hurt. He wasn't even a threat to Rick. I was more worried about what Rick would do to Sam if I didn't stop him."

"But, by going over to him, you put yourself in the position of being charged with assault, which is exactly where you are right now," countered Sheriff Durham.

"Even though my brother was the one who was hurt?" snapped Dean.

John could see that Dean was getting frustrated so he decided it was time to intervene. "I think what my son is trying to say is that he really wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions. He just wanted to break up the fight to stop his brother from getting hurt worse."

"I understand that," responded the sheriff, "But that didn't give him the right to go up to the other boy and threaten him."

"I only warned him to stay away from my brother," countered Dean.

"According to the complaint filed by the Leaveys," said the sheriff, flipping open the file and quoting, "You 'loomed menacingly over Rick Leavey and threatened him with physical harm should he attempt to approach a Samuel Winchester in the future.'" He looked at Dean and asked, "Is that correct?"

Dean didn't know what to say so he stared at the sheriff for a moment before he answered, "It wasn't quite like that." He swallowed and glanced at his father. _'A little help would be nice, Dad.'_

John didn't feel that he should step in at the moment. He felt that until the sheriff actually got around to addressing the charges, he should stay out of it as much as possible. He hadn't been present for the altercation between his sons and this other boy and his knowledge of the facts were sketchy to say the least.

"Well Son, unless you're denying that you threatened the boy…." started the sheriff.

But Dean jumped in before he could finish, "So I guess it doesn't count that he had already broken Sam's wrist and dislocated his collarbone?"

"Not as far as you're concerned, it doesn't," responded Sheriff Durham. "I don't see any other option but to…"

This time it was John who interrupted. "Isn't there any way we could sit down with the Leaveys and discuss this?"

Sheriff Durham rose from his seat but didn't respond to John's question, so John continued, "I understand that what Dean did was wrong – and he understands that too – but I think that this matter goes a little bit deeper than just my son threatening this other boy." He paused to gauge the sheriff's reaction, which was virtually non-existent. "After all, there were three boys, including this Rick Leavey, ganging up on my other son when Dean arrived. And they had already severely injured Sam. I think that, however reckless, Dean was just concerned about this brother's welfare. I don't think he really intended to threaten to harm anyone."

'_Oh yes I did, Dad!'_

John continued, "All I'm asking is to have a chance to talk to these people to see if we can't come to some sort of agreement that won't end up in charges against my son."

"Well," replied the sheriff. "I suppose I could talk to them and see if they'd be willing to do that."

"Thank you, Sheriff Durham," answered John, sounding somewhat relieved, "That's all I'm asking. Just to have a chance to sit down and speak with them."

"I don't know how much good that will do," added the sheriff, "Mr. Leavey was pretty adamant that we charge your son. Town Council's been trying to crack down on teen violence lately – they don't want this town having all the problems that a big city has, you know. And Greg Leavey is Deputy Mayor. Not sure how he'll respond to a request to let a kid off who threatened his son."

'_Deputy Mayor?' _thought Dean. _'Why couldn't he just be a garbage man or something?'_


	14. Chapter 14

Father and son sat mutely, staring around the tiny room after the sheriff left to contact the Leaveys. Sheriff Durham didn't want to let Dean leave until after he had spoken to them in case they were opposed to John's request for a meeting. If they refused to meet, Sheriff Durham had explained that he would have no other option than to charge Dean with assault before they left.

Dean had been nervous from the moment they had arrived but his anxiety continued to increase with the length of time the sheriff was gone. He fidgeted in his seat, wrung his hands together, drummed his fingers on the table, ran his fingers through his hair and did about a million other things trying to alleviate the stress.

John, for the most part, sat still and watched his son squirm in his chair. But his expressions ran the gauntlet from concern to annoyance, which only added to Dean's unease. He wasn't sure whether he should expect his father's help in this matter or ask the sheriff to protect him from his father; he just couldn't read his father right now.

Most of the time it wasn't that hard, especially if they were on a hunt. They pretty much knew each other inside and out and could sense what the other one was thinking. But, sometimes when it was personal, Dean found his father impossible to figure out.

Likewise, John was unable to decipher exactly what was going on in his eldest son's head. He knew that there was something that Dean wasn't telling him but he was more or less used to that by now. Dean usually didn't tell him anything. He had never been very forthcoming with information regarding what he was doing and this certainly wasn't turning out to be an exception.

Dean and Sam were so different in that aspect; Sam would blurt his heart and sole out. He usually confided to Dean, but if it was bothering him enough, or was a big enough problem, he would tell his father. And once Dean knew that Sam had a problem or a concern, he made sure that John was aware of it. But Dean just kept all his own problems and concerns to himself.

They were bought out of their private thoughts when the sheriff returned. He had spoken to Mrs. Leavey and she had been willing to meet with the Winchesters. She had reluctantly consented to allow the sheriff to delay filing the assault charges until after their meeting, as long as John would guarantee to Sheriff Durham that, in the meantime, Dean would not venture near her son.

The meeting was scheduled to take place at the sheriff's station the next day at 5 p.m. It had been agreed that all the major participants in the altercation would be present. John would bring both Dean and Sam and Rick would accompany his parents.

As they climbed into the truck, John looked at Dean and said, "Care to tell me what else you think might be going on?"

Dean frowned at his father and appeared to be baffled by the comment. Once again he chose not to say anything. _'Yeah…like that'd help.'_

John raised his eyebrows at his son and stated, "I know there's something that you're not telling me." But his statement was once gain met with silence so he added, "Might make this easier if you told me what you're worried about."

Dean rolled his eyes as he looked away from his father. "It's nothin'. Don't worry about it."

"Dean," continued John, "It's not nothing. I can tell when there's something's bothering you."

"Well, you're wrong," replied Dean ardently. _'You wanna hear how I think that this whole thing is tied up with me takin' some silly girl out to piss off Rick's brother and that what's happened to Sammy is all because of that? Talk about conspiracy theories.'_

"Dean," tried John again, "You've gotten yourself into a fair bit of trouble with this…"

"Yeah," interrupted Dean sounding extremely irritated, "Sheriff Durham already told me that."

"If there's something you thing might help…"

"No Dad," stated Dean emphatically, "There's nothing. So unless you have something to add, I'd just as soon we stopped talking about it."

Dean knew that he was treading on pretty shaky ground speaking to his father like that, but he was already beating himself up about the entire situation and didn't think that anything his father said or did to him could possibly make him feel worse.

John looked over at his son but opted out of responding. He knew that Dean was feeling guilty about something; he just didn't know what that something was. And if he knew his son like he thought he did, no amount of cajoling or intimidation would drag it out of him.

Neither John nor Dean spoke again until they pulled into the motel parking lot. John parked the truck and the two of them got out and headed towards their room. As John got close to door he spotted a business card tucked into the door just above the lock.

He pulled it out of the door and read:

LORRAINE STODDART

Children's Services

CHILDREN'S AID SOCIETY

749-8990

Then John flipped the card over and saw the hand-written note scrawled on the back:

**_Mr. Winchester: Call me as soon as possible. This matter is urgent._**

"What the hell?" queried John as he opened the door.

Sam was sitting cross-legged on the bed doing his homework and he looked up when the door opened.

"Sam, did you see who left this card?" asked John, turning it over in his had.

Sam shrugged. "Some lady. She knocked on the door a bunch of times but you told me not to answer it, so I didn't."

John was glad to hear that at least one of his sons actually paid attention to him. "What time was she here?"

"I dunno – ten minutes after you left."

"I wonder what the hell she wants?" replied John as he picked up the phone to dial the number on the card.

Dean entered the room and sat down on the bed beside Sam. He looked at the chicken-scratch that his brother had scrawled on the page in front of him. "Nice writing."

Sam peered up at him. "Whaddya expect? I'm writing left-handed," and he lifted his right arm and waved his cast at his brother.

Dean smirked at his brother and nodded his head slightly, but refrained from saying anything else. He glanced at his father, who was talking quietly into the phone, before he picked up the remote to turn on the television.

Just as the television flicked on, John hung up the phone and said, "Turn that off."

Dean looked at him and asked, "Why? What did she want?" but he pressed the button to turn the television off as his father had requested.

"She's on her way over here to talk to us now," replied John.

"About what?" asked Sam.

"Those bruises on your neck."


	15. Chapter 15

"Sonofabitch," swore Dean as flopped himself backwards onto the bed. _'What the hell else is gonna go wrong?'_

Sam looked at his brother and then turned his attention to his father. "How'd she find out about that?"

John rubbed his hand across his forehead and replied, "Apparently the hospital called Children's Services early this morning. Some nurse filed a report. I guess she didn't quite believe your explanation for the bruises." He looked over at the two boys and continued, "Which, by the way, you never bothered to tell me."

Dean sighed, "It just didn't seem important when we got back from the hospital. You were going hunting and we were kinda more worried about that then some stupid nurse bugging us about Sammy's neck"

"Well, she was obviously concerned enough to file a complaint with Children's Services," stated John. "They're sending this Lorraine Stoddart over to talk to us. So…we should get our stories straight before she gets here. Maybe starting with what you told them at the hospital."

"Umm," uttered Sam, glancing at Dean, "We told the nurse that we were wrestling and we just got a bit carried away."

"Yeah…and she obviously didn't believe us," added Dean as he propped himself up on his elbows. "She kept bugging us about it, trying to trip us up."

"So what did you tell her?" asked John.

"Not much," responded Dean. "We stuck to the story. Just told her that Sammy wants to join the Wrestling Club next year, so I was teaching him some moves. Just got a little bit outta hand. You know, brotherly love and all that kinda stuff."

"Well," added Sam, "they did keep asking me questions when they took me for x-rays."

Dean sat up and looked at his younger brother. "You didn't tell them something different did you?" he asked accusingly.

"Not really," confessed Sam hesitantly. "I just told them that we were wrestling and you got mad and tried to strangle me."

"Oh, great!" groaned Dean. "I tried to strangle you. Thanks a lot."

"Well, you did!" retorted Sam.

"Did you tell them I was trying to stop you from getting the crap beaten outta you – which, if I recall, was the reason we were there in the first place?"

"No," shot back Sam. "I told them you were mad because I wasn't paying attention. So you wanted to show me what would happen if I didn't pay attention during a match."

"I doubt strangling's legal in wrestling, no matter crappy your opponent's concentration is," countered Dean. He couldn't believe that Sam had actually told someone that he had tried to strangle him even though it was true. Maybe he should have just hit him in the first place. A black eye could have been explained away with the other injuries.

"No, Idiot," countered Sam. "I told them you were mad and wanted to quit but I kept bugging you until you turned around and grabbed me."

"Oh… that's so much better," griped Dean sarcastically. "My little brother wouldn't leave me alone so I decided to strangle him."

"Guys," interrupted John, "This isn't helping…"

But before he could finish Sam continued, "I told them that I was jabbing at you and I wouldn't stop, so you grabbed me by the neck."

"Sam. Dean." intervened John, more forcefully this time. "Bickering isn't going to help. We have to sort this out before this woman gets here. She's probably going to want to speak to all of us separately. So we have to be able to tell the same story and we have to make sure it coincides with what you told them at the hospital." He looked at both boys as he added, "And it couldn't have been too bad, because they let you leave together and come home."

"That's all I told them," whined Sam to his father. "He did try to strangle me and I just told them it was my fault because I kept bugging him. I didn't tell them anything else."

"Okay," moaned John, not sure why everything seemed to be coming to a head today. "Did they ask where I was during this whole thing?"

"Yeah," responded Dean. We told them you weren't here and didn't know anything about it."

Sam nodded in agreement but the conversation was stopped short by a knock on the door.

John opened the door and introduced himself to the woman at the door; he motioned for her to come in and she took a seat at the table by the window. Ms Stoddart opened the file she had brought with her and removed some paperwork. Then she looked at all three of the Winchesters and explained that she had been asked to come by and interview them because the nurse at the hospital had been concerned about Sam. She would be interviewing all three of them separately, starting with Sam, and then she would talk to all of them together.

John and Dean went outside. Ms. Stoddart had requested that they refrain from discussing the matter, so John sat on one of the chairs outside the motel room and Dean went and sat in the Impala. He didn't want to speak with his father anyway. He threw a tape in the player and leaned back in the seat to listen to the music.

Inside, Sam and the woman began their discussion in a casual, friendly manner. She asked him how he got along with his family and how they happened to be living in a motel in this town.

Her first set of questions were ones that both Dean and Sam had been asked a million times before so Sam's answers were quick and easy. Nothing that Sam said seemed to raise any warning bells with the social worker so they slowly eased into how Sam had received the bruises on his neck.

Sam sighed before he launched into his story. He sounded as if he were extremely bored with the re-telling of the incident. Sam told her how he had pestered Dean into showing him some wrestling moves because he wanted to be on the wrestling team next year when he went to high school.

Ms. Stoddart wanted to know if Dean was on the wrestling team and Sam told her no, that Dean really wasn't big on joining clubs and things, but he was a really good wrestler anyway.

She asked Sam how he and Dean got along and Sam told her that they usually got along okay. Dean liked to boss him around but he figured that was because he had been looking after him since their mother died. That led into a brief discussion about their mother but Sam was pretty evasive, telling her that she had died in a fire when he was a baby and explaining how Dean had carried him out of the house that night.

Ms. Stoddart steered the conversation back to the bruising on Sam's neck and Sam maintained that he had been being a pest and kept jabbing at his brother after Dean asked him to stop. He said that Dean had tried to ignore him but that he kept it up until Dean finally turned around and grabbed his neck. The social worker asked him to explain what happened then.

"Well, Dean was pretty pissed and he told me to stop being a pain in the butt. That made me mad, so I took a swing at him."

"Did you hit him?"

"No he was too far away, so I tried to kick him. But that missed too."

"And then what happened?" asked Ms. Stoddart, writing down everything that Sam told her.

"Dean kinda tightened his grip on my neck, which made me even madder, so I took another couple of swings at him. That's when he pushed me down and told me to grow up."

"How did he push you down?"

"He just sorta increased the pressure on my neck and pushed me backwards. Then, when I was lying down, he just let go."

"What did he do after that?"

"He went outside."

"And what did you do?"

"Nothing. I coughed a bit, but that was about it."

"And are you afraid of your brother?"

"Afraid of Dean? Are you crazy?" answered Sam incredulously. "Dean would do anything for me. He's always watching out for me and sometimes that drives me nuts."

"Has he done this type of thing before?" Ms. Stoddart asked, watching Sam very closely.

"No."

"And why do you think he did it this time."

"I dunno," replied Sam, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess he was just having a bad day." Then he looked at the social worker and stated, "He's really not a bad guy, you know."

"How about your father? What did he think of all this?"

"He was pretty mad at Dean. I think he grounded him, but I'm not really sure. It's none of my business so I didn't ask. But he was pretty mad."

Ms. Stoddart nodded slowly and stared at Sam for a few minutes. He was about to ask her if they were done, when she said, "Tell me about how you got your other injuries – the ones you went to the hospital for."

Sam took a deep breath and replied, "I got in a fight at school."

"Was your brother involved?" asked Ms. Stoddart inquisitively.

"Not until the end. He kinda broke it up."

"How did he do that?"

"He just told the guy I was fighting with to leave me alone."

"And that was all?"

"Yeah... after he told the two guys that were holding me to let me go too. He wouldn't let us fight anymore," reflected Sam.

"So the other boys just walked away when Dean told them to leave you alone."

"Yeah. I think they were a bit scared of him 'cause he's older and bigger."

"And what did Dean do then."

"Nothing. He just brought me back here because I didn't want to go to the hospital, but Dad told me I had to. So Dean took me to the hospital."

"Why didn't your father take you?"

"I guess because he wasn't feeling well."

The social worker watched Sam for a moment and then she wrote something in the file. When she was done, she told Sam that she didn't have any more questions for him. She asked him to tell his father that he could come back in now and cautioned him about speaking to Dean.

Sam picked up the novel he was reading for English class and went outside to change places with his father. Sam sat in the chair beside the one his father had just vacated and opened his book. He glanced at Dean in the Impala and noticed that Dean was watching him. Sam really wanted to go talk to his brother, but Ms. Stoddart had warned him against it, so he half-smiled at Dean before he started to read his book.

John came inside and sat down. The social worker started her questioning with a list of basic questions, which John answered without hesitation: Yes, he was a single parent. Mary had died in a fire when Sam was a baby. No, he had never remarried. He'd like to find a place to settle down with the boys if he could find a decent job that had a future. No, he didn't think that living in a motel room was the best thing for his sons, but he was doing the best he could. Yes, he constantly relies on Dean to help him out with Sam.

"Does Dean resent that? Always helping out with his brother?" asked Ms. Stoddart.

"I don't think so, but you'd have to ask Dean."

"Has he ever said anything to you about it?"

"No," stated John, "But he doesn't talk about his feelings much. Even if I ask him, he tends to be very evasive. He's always been like that."

"Has he ever done anything like this before?"

"No. I'm actually still surprised that he did it this time. It's really not like him to do something like that to Sam."

"And why is that?"

"He's very protective of Sam. Has been since their mother died."

"Sam said he carried him out of the house the night it burned. Is that right?"

"Yeah. I handed Sam to him and told him to run outside and not look back and he did - without question." Then he added with regret, "I tried to get Mary out but I just wasn't able to."

"I'm sorry," replied the social worker, realizing that she had hit upon a very sensitive topic. After a brief pause she added sympathetically, "I only have a few more questions."

John nodded.

"Do you think that there's a risk that this type of thing might happen again?"

"I doubt it," answered John honestly. "I'm pretty sure that Dean's learned his lesson – especially with Children's Services becoming involved."

"Okay," concluded Ms. Stoddart. "That's all." She smiled at John and asked, "Can you tell Dean I'd like to talk to him now?"

John nodded and asked if it was acceptable for him and Sam to talk now. Ms. Stoddart acknowledged that would be okay and John told her they'd probably just go to the motel diner for something fast to eat. She told him that she would probably be about 30 minutes with Dean and that she would send him to get them when she was done.

John opened the door and exited the motel room. He motioned to Dean that it was his turn to speak to Ms. Stoddart and then he and Sam headed for the diner.

Dean got out of the car and headed to the motel room. As he entered the room, Ms. Stoddart greeted him and told him to have a seat.

Dean sat down but didn't say anything as he felt it best to wait for the social worker to start. No point trying to fake something until he had to.

"So, Dean," Ms. Stoddart began, "Do you want to start by telling me what happened? How your brother got the bruisings on his neck?"

'_No. Not really.' _"I guess I lost my temper and I grabbed him by the neck," was all he offered.

"Well what happened to make you lose your temper?"

There was no point dragging this out by making the woman ask a million questions, which was usually how he handled these things. Don't provide more information than required or requested. But Dean knew this would be a long night if he adhered to that philosophy, so he decided to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Sam wanted me to show him some wrestling moves. We were just goofing around. After a while he didn't seem interested any longer so I figured we were done. But then he kept bugging me to show him more, even though he'd stopped paying attention. So I told him that was enough. But he wouldn't leave me alone and I guess I got mad."

"When you say that he wouldn't leave you alone – what was he doing?"

"Just being a pesky little brother. Pokin' me and stuff," replied Dean. "He just kept bugging me and wouldn't stop so I guess I grabbed him."

"And what did he do then?"

"Same as anyone else would who was grabbed by the neck," retorted Dean. "He started squirming."

"Is that all?" asked Ms. Stoddart.

"He might've tried hitting me – I really don't remember," responded Dean. "All I wanted him to do was stop. Once he settled down, I let go of him."

"And then what did you do?"

"I guess I went outside to cool off." Dean figured that was a pretty safe bet, seeing as that was usually what he did when the situation with his family got to him.

Ms. Stoddart studied Dean for a few moments before she picked up her pen and wrote some things in the file. Dean watched her but resisted the urge to try to see what she was writing, surmising that it would look better if he didn't appear to be too interested.

When she was done writing, the social worker looked back at Dean was asked, "You look after your brother a lot, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," responded Dean, "I have since he was little."

"Do you resent having to look after him all the time?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Well, for one thing, it takes up a lot of your time," said Ms. Stoddart. "Time you might rather spend with your friends."

Dean smirked. "I don't have many friends. We move around so much that I never bother. We're just gonna move anyway, so there's not much point."

Dean's statement was given without any hint of emotion and it caught the social worker by surprise. "Does that bother you? Wouldn't you like to make some friends?"

"It doesn't matter what I'd like. It's just the way it is."

"I see," replied Ms. Stoddart, "But wouldn't you like it to be different?"

"Look," stated Dean, sitting forward in his chair, "I'd like my mother to still be alive. But she's not. Everything changed after she died. There's nothing I can do about it. We – me, my Dad and Sam – we do the best we can. Sometimes it's hard, but we manage."

Ms. Stoddart nodded and looked at the young man sitting across from her. He was so young yet he came across as being much older than his years.

"All right," she tried, "Let's get back to what happened with Sam. Do you have any idea why you became so angry with him?"

Dean thought for a moment before he answered, "I guess it's been bothering me that he'd been letting some kid pick on him at school."

"Is this the same boy he was fighting with?"

"Yeah. Sammy's been letting him push him around. I told him he had to stick up for himself, but he seemed to be content to let this kid bully him."

"And it bothers you that your brother is being bullied?"

"Damn straight," retorted Dean. "You move around as much as we do, it's easy to be the target of some jerk at school. You have to stand up for yourself and that's what I told Sam."

"But he wouldn't do it?"

"No, he'd rather not rock the boat."

"Does he look to you to protect him?"

"He used to. But now that he's getting bigger, he says he doesn't want me to."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It'd be fine if he'd look out for himself."

Ms. Stoddart contemplated Dean's answer; he seemed to be caught in a moral dilemma much like a parent – when do you let go and let children look out for themselves and when do you step in to help. And Sam was reacting to Dean like he was a parent. He expected his help even though he didn't think he wanted it.

And Dean had been concerned about Sam's safety, which she found rather ironic seeing as she had been sent here to check on the same thing. Talking to Dean, she got the impression that he really wasn't a threat to his brother; that this entire incident had simply been a mistake. Mistakes did happen and she was sure that Sam was not in any danger from the young man in front of her.

Ms. Stoddart told Dean he could go get his father and brother so she could talk to them all together before she left. When they returned to the motel room, Ms. Stoddart informed them of her observations. She didn't think that Sam was in any danger from Dean and she was going to put that in her report. She wasn't sure whether her supervisor would recommend that she come out and talk to them again, but she didn't really see any need. She did think it would be a good idea for them to try to find an apartment if they were going to stay in town for a while; that would give them all more space and probably alleviate some of the tension. But as far as she was concerned, the matter was closed. She gave her card to John and she left.

Dean looked at his father and stated, "I'm glad this day's over."

"It's not over yet," he replied. "We have to go find that Aswang."


	16. Chapter 16

Both Sam and Dean looked at their father wondering how he could switch gears so quickly. Ms. Stoddart hadn't even left the motel parking lot yet, and it was as if she had never been there as far as their father was concerned. The only thing he was thinking about now was hunting the Aswang.

Dean didn't have a problem with that because he really didn't want to think about Ms. Stoddart and Children's Services either. He knew that, if his father was to think about how they had ended up being investigated by Children's Services, he'd just end up getting in more trouble anyway. And he was in enough trouble as it was.

Sam, on the other hand, was still pretty distraught over having to speak to Ms. Stoddart. He wanted to discuss it with both his father and brother but he could tell that they had no intention of talking about it. As far as they were concerned it was water under the bridge and it was time to move on. So Sam didn't say anything.

Dean looked at his watch and asked, "What time do we have to go out after the Aswang?"

John replied, "It won't make an appearance until it's dark but I don't think it will wait until after midnight tonight. It's hurt pretty badly so it will need nourishment as soon as it can get it.It won't wait to go after that same woman until she's sleeping. It will look for someone it can attack in a park or someone who's out for a walk. It's going to attack right after dark."

"In other words, we'll have to leave soon," remarked Dean.

"Yes, and all three of us are going this time," replied John. "I'm not taking any chances tonight."

"But Dad," complained Sam, "I don't want to go. Can't I just stay here?"

"No," said John. "This Aswang is tricky and he's hurt. He came after you last night and I don't want to risk a repeat performance. I want you with us so we can keep an eye on you."

"Great," murmured Sam. "I'm always going to need a babysitter. You guys'll never let me grow up."

"Sure we will, Sammy," smirked Dean, "As soon as you're as old as me."

"Right," groaned Sam. "Which'll never happen, 'cause you'll always be older."

"Exactly," confirmed Dean.

John and Dean sat down at the table and discussed where they thought the Aswang might go looking for its meal while Sam tried to finish his homework. He wasn't able to accomplish much as he was still upset from the meeting with Children's Services and the conversation between his father and brother kept distracting him. After a while, he just gave up and went to sit with them to learn what he could about the hunt.

Sometimes Sam liked being involved in the hunts but, at other times, he'd just as soon not be included. Tonight was one of the times that he wished he could just remain behind. He was tired of fighting, whether it be with Rick, Dean or some silly creature called an Aswang and he just didn't want any part of it. He was also way out of touch on this one; he had no clue what this Aswang was or what it could do. All the more reason to stay out of it.

But Sam knew that wasn't how his father operated. He wanted Sam there so he could keep an eye on him, which meant that he expected Sam to take an active role in the hunt. Sam didn't mind that; he might as well be involved if he was going to be there. It was the playing catch-up part that he didn't want to do. And this thing had already thwarted his father twice, not to mention that it had injured him too.

Sam joined his father and brother at the table to discuss stake-out possibilities and corresponding strategies. They had been going over maps of the town, looking for parks, pathways and playgrounds that might be potential hunting grounds. They had already marked the locations where previous victims had been found as well as the house where the Aswang had been hunting the past two nights.

John had zeroed in on a small park that was more or less centralized within the confirmed hunting grounds. From his previous surveillance of the region, he was pretty sure that this park was actually just a grassy area with a couple of benches that was part of a pathway that encircled the sub-division. Its secluded location, and the fact that it was just a stones-throw away from the house where the Aswang's last sought-after victim lived, convinced John that this would be where Aswang would prey.

The three hunters gathered up the needed provisions and loaded them into the vehicles. John ordered Sam togo withDean in the Impala,and Deanwould fill him in all aspects of the hunt and the Aswang itself while they were enroute to the park. John was going by himself because he knew that the Aswang would be on the lookout for him. Although the Aswang knew that John had at least one partner and a son who was injured, John felt that it lacked sufficient knowledge to be able to identify either of his sons. Having the two boys go together was the safest plan for both of them.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam and Dean approached the park cautiously. At the moment there wasn't anyone nearby; both the pathway and the park were vacant. But that didn't mean that the Aswang hadn't arrived. Dean looked around for their father but didn't see any trace of him. Both boys knew that their father's plan was to wait at the edge of the sub-division until he saw a potential victim coming toward the park; then he would shadow that person to get within range of the Aswang should it attack. Sam and Dean were to find places to hide in the park

One side of the pathway was bordered by a row of hedges that blocked the neighboring sub-division from view. Dean felt that would be a perfect vantage point for Sam to lie in wait for the Aswang. The hedges weren't thick enough for the Aswang to conceal himself and there was nowhere else close by for the Aswang to hide. That meant that Sam would not be in danger, because if the creature saw him, both Dean and John would be able to attack before it reached him.

Dean noticed that, of the five benches in the little park, three of them were placed under trees. One of the tress was young and spindly and Dean didn't think that it would hold the Aswang's weight if it perched on any of its branches to wait for a victim. The two remaining trees were both mature trees with thick trunks and plenty of foliage. Either one would make a good hiding spot for the Aswang.

One of the tress had a rather low, strong bough that hung out over the bench so, based on that observation, Dean determined that the Aswang would probably conceal itself in that tree. It could remain obscured from view, hidden by the dense leaves and be able to reach down and grab its victim unnoticed, scarcely having to move.

Dean directed Sam over to the hedges and he assumed his position behind another tree bordering the park. Now all they had to do was wait.

John had seen the boys enter the park and watched as they scouted the area and assumed their positions. He was relieved to see that they had beaten the Aswang to the park. He just hoped that his assessment of where it would hunt was correct; he didn't want to read about another victim in the paper the next day.

As he was watching the boys, John saw a someone strolling down the path and he took out his binoculars to observe the person. He was surprised to see that it was the same young woman that the Aswang had been stalking recently. She was walking quite slowly due to the fact that her baby was full-term. Her encumbered physical state would make her all the more desirable to the Aswang and John felt confident that he had made the right decision coming here.

John wanted to follow the woman. He knew that both Dean and Sam would see her coming and would be able to shoot at the Aswang if it approached her from behind. He wanted to be able to shoot it if it approached from the front. He backtracked into the sub-division and retreated to the end of the road where he walked through the yard of one of the houses, and descended the hill to the pathway, coming up behind the woman.

Dean and Sam waited patiently as the woman got closer to the park with their father trailing her. The woman was about 100 yards from the park when Sam noticed a young boy about ten or eleven come rollerblading down the pathway in the opposite direction. Sam was the only one of the three hunters who could see the boy because of a curve that the pathway took away from the park and the sub-division. He was attempting to alert Dean to the boy's presence when he noticed a dark shadow swooping through the sky behind the child. The Aswang was only moments away from seizing the boy and Sam knew he had to act quickly if he was to avert the attack.

Dean caught sight of his brother as Sam emerged from his hiding spot and ran in the opposite direction of the woman and their father. As he watched Sam sprint across the grass, he saw the young boy and realized he must be in danger. Why else would Sam reveal himself like that?

Dean took off after his brother, keeping his gun aimed in the sky searching for the Aswang. He rounded the bend in time to see Sam collide with the boy, knocking him to the ground and using his body to cover him. Sam twisted to take aim at the Aswang, and Dean copied his brother's action with his own weapon.

But the Aswang had reached Sam and stretched out one of its long, muscular back legs to grab him before he had a chance to fire. It used its tail to knock the gun from Sam's hand.Dean fired at the creature but he was running down the incline at such a fast rate that he was unable to get off a clear shot. As he saw the Aswang seize his brother, Dean discarded his weapon, transferring all of his efforts and energy into reaching Sam before the Aswang could take off with him.

Dean propelled himself forward and tackled his brother as the Aswang attempted to lift him off the ground. The added weight caused the creature to release its hold on Sam, but it used its strong tail to grasp hold of Dean. It grabbed him with its back paws, wrapping its tail around his torso and securing its hold on him. Sam tried to pull Dean from the creature's hold but the Aswang held him firmly in its clutches.

Sam fell backwards to the ground and watched helplessly as the Aswang flew off into the night sky carrying his brother away with it.


	17. Chapter 17

John charged around the bend in the pathway firing his gun at the Aswang but he had been too far away and now it was completely out of range. As he lowered his gun, he sprinted over to where Sam remained sprawled out on the ground.

"Sam! You okay?" he asked as he reached his youngest son, helping him up.

"Dad, it's got Dean!" cried Sam, alarm filling his voice.

John looked at Sam and nodded but did not speak. He would find out exactly what had happened that ended up with Dean being carried off by the Aswang in a moment. Right now he had to get the young boy to safety.

"You okay, Son?" John inquired as he approached the boy.

"What was that?" asked the boy, completely baffled.

"I'm not sure," lied John, "But I think you should let us take you home."

"Dad!" injected Sam, "That Aswang has Dean! We have to help him!" He couldn't believe that his father seemed more concerned about taking the boy home than he did about rescuing Dean.

"Sam," cautioned John, in an effort to stop him from saying anything more in front of the boy. It was imperative that they did not cause the boy any more alarm or reveal to him that they knew anything about this creature.

"But, Dad…" continued Sam.

"**_Sam_**," interrupted John vehemently as he turned to face his son. Neither his tone of voice nor the expression on his face left any room for debate as he added, "This boy needs to get home safely and we're going to take him."

John had no intention of leaving the child alone, as there was a distinct possibility that the Aswang would return to attack him. Whatever had transpired that resulted in the creature choosing Dean as its victim, John knew that it could just as well abandon him in favor of a less problematic meal choice. The injured creature would not venture far and, with its keen eyesight, it could easily zero in on the unattended boy once again. Maybe it was even counting on the fact that John would rush off to rescue his son, giving it the opportunity to attack someone else once John got close. So before he gave any thought to rescuing Dean, he had to get the boy home.

It wasn't that he wasn't concerned about Dean but he reasoned that Dean had a better chance fending off the Aswang than the boy did. And if the Aswang wasn't given the choice of preying on another human, it would stick with the one it had. John knew Dean was strong; he was a fighter and he had another advantage over the Aswang – he wasn't injured. Under normal circumstances the injured Aswang would never have attacked Dean but it must have been desperate for a meal. It would make mistakes and John hoped that its first mistake had been selecting Dean as its victim.

The boy looked at John and Sam and asked, "Who are you guys?"

"Just friends," stated Sam. Although he didn't comprehend his father's reasoning for not rushing off to help Dean, he realized that it was useless to argue. His father had decided that they were taking this boy home and that was the end of it. Besides, he knew that they really couldn't discuss any of this in front of the boy. So instead of bickering with his father, he asked the boy, "Where do you live?" The sooner they got him home, the sooner they could help Dean.

"That house up there," said the boy, pointing to a house back in the direction from which he had come.

John and Sam quickly escorted the young boy home. As they walked him home, the boy was full of questions: What was that thing? Where had it come from? Had they ever seen anything like it before? Did you see the size of the wings on it? Was it dangerous? What was going to happen to the person it took off with?

For the most part John just ignored the boy's questions. Sam didn't know what to tell him either and settled for just letting the boy ramble on. As they proceeded to the boy's house, John carefully scrutinized the skies for the Aswang. But it was now very dark and John couldn't see anything in the night sky. Although he knew that it would stay somewhere in the vicinity, he wasn't sure where it would end up. He was hoping that Dean would somehow find a way to let them know where he was.

The belief that the Aswang would not fly far both comforted and disturbed John. On one hand, it meant that he was still within range to help his son but on the other hand, it meant that Dean was in imminent danger. Once the Aswang landed, it would set about ripping Dean apart to make a meal out of him. And John knew firsthand just how strong this creature was.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean struggled violently against the hold that the Aswang had on him but he was unable to free himself from the creature's grip. It held him securely, with its claws embedded into his ribcage, and every time he tried to twist out of its grasp, the Aswang sunk its claws deeper into his skin. As a countermeasure against the pain, Dean clutched the creature's legs, attempting to hold himself up and reduce the pressure on his body. It was pointless trying to go for the gun that was tucked into the waistband of his jeans; the Aswang's tail was wrapped tightly around his waist. But he knew what he would do once the creature removed its tail from his body.

Dean could tell that the Aswang was having difficulty flying, which he surmised was due to the injured creature carrying his added weight. He knew that he had not been the creature's intended victim but it had ended up without a choice after Sam had stopped it from grabbing the boy and he had torn Sam from its grasp. Now the creature was flying erratically and it seemed to be flapping its wings more often than it should have in order to stay aloft. They wouldn't stay in the air for long.

Dean felt the Aswang initiate its descent and he realized that it must have decided that it had flown far enough. Now it was going to land and enjoy its meal. Panic began to surface as he realized just how much danger he would be in once they landed. But he knew that he had to keep his wits about him if he was to survive, so instead of thinking about the peril he faced, he concentrated on how he was going to mount his defense.

Dean knew that he was stillclose enoughfor his father and brother to help him; all he had to do was stay alive until they took reach him. And in order to stay alive, he had to let his father know where he was and be able to fend the Aswang off.

Dean determined that he had to land on his back if he was to battle the Aswang. If he landed on his stomach, the creature would use its strong legs and claws to hold him down. He didn't know how easy it would be for the Aswang to extract his organs from his back, but he figured that its teeth were probably just as sharp as its claws and it wouldn't have any trouble ripping him to pieces. All he had to figure out now was how to end up facing the creature when they landed.

Although it was impossible for him to obtain his gun, Dean still had a knife strapped to his leg. If he could just reach it and use it to slash the creature as they neared the ground, the Aswang would loosen its hold on him and, with any luck, screech out in pain. The noise would alert his father to their location and provide him with the opportunity to twist himself around so he would be facing the Aswang - if it didn't cause the creature to let go of him completely.

Dean released his hold on the Aswang's rear legs and let his body sink back down into the creature's grasp, and he felt the inevitable tightening of the creature's claws into his body. He could also feel the Aswang lurch downward as it assumed carrying all of his weight and he used that opportunity to swing his legs up behind him and grab the knife.

The change in its captive's position caught the Aswang off guard and it swayed off balance as it descended closer to the ground. It grabbed its victim with its front paws in order to free its rear legs for its landing. Dean clutched the knife firmly in his hand, waiting for the right moment to thrust it into the creature.

When he was approximately ten feet from the ground, Dean struck. He lifted the knife and plunged it as hard as he could into one of the Aswang's front legs. As he had hoped, the Aswang shrieked loudly in response to the attack and it released him from its grip. But Dean was still held securely by the creature's tail and he swayed violently in the air. Dean reached behind him and seized the Aswang's tail. Holding it firmly in his grip, he spun himself around so he was facing upwards and he immediately grabbed the tail with his other hand so the Aswang would not be able to dislodge him.

The Aswang growled as it felt Dean take hold of its tail and it rose upright, hovering just above the ground. Its pale green eyes stared down at Dean and it bared its teeth in an effort to frighten him. But survival was the only thing on Dean's mind and he ignored the Aswang. He had to be ready to do battle once he was on the ground.

The Aswang slowly descended until Dean felt his back hit the ground and he watched the Aswang plant its rear legs on either side of his legs. It brought the rest of its body down overtop of him until it stood straddling its prey with its front paws almost touching Dean's shoulders. Then it lowered its head and stared into Dean's eyes. With its face only mere inches away, Dean lay helplessly beneath the creature and watched in horror as the Aswang opened its mouth to display an ominous set of razor-sharp teeth.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stared up at the Aswang, but he wasn't quite ready to admit defeat.

"Sorry, Kitty'" he muttered, as he twisted the knife around in his hand and drove it upwards into the creature's chest. "But I never accepted the invite to this dinner party!"

The Aswang reared onto its back legs and clawed at the knife protruding from its chest. As it staggered backward, it let out a high-pitched shriek and closed its paws around the offensive weapon. But try as it might, it was unable to grip the knife and momentarily lost interest in its meal as it struggled to remove the offensive weapon from its body.

This was the opportunity Dean had been waiting for and he tugged at the Aswang's tail to remove it from around his waist. When he had succeeded in wiggling free, he scrambled to his feet and reached into the waistband of his jeans for the gun.

Once he had the weapon in his hand, he turned to face the creature, and murmured, "Time to say good night!" as he pulled the trigger.

But the Aswang had not completely forsaken its meal and as Dean fired, the creature struck him with its tail, knocking him sideways and causing the bullet to miss its target. Dean attempted to regain his balance as quickly as he could in order to fire another shot, but the creature leapt forward and grabbed him by his shoulders. As he aimed the gun at the Aswang, it swung its tail and knocked the gun from his grasp.

"Shit," he muttered, "You and that damn tail."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John and Sam had just dropped the young boy at his home when they heard the creature's tortured wail in the distance.

"That's my boy, Dean!" John whispered to himself, encouraged by the sound. At least Dean wasn't going to go down without a fight. He turned to Sam and said, "Let's go."

John and Sam took off running as fast as they could in the direction of the Aswang's cry, all their thoughts now centered around finding Dean before it was too late. Father and son raced through the sub-division to the pathway where the Aswang had abducted Dean. They didn't slow their pace as they neared the pathway but ran past it in the direction they had last seen the Aswang, before it had disappeared into the darkness.

John listened intently for any further cries that would help guide him to where he knew Dean would be fighting for his life. They had run about as far as John felt they should without actually knowing where Dean and the Aswang were, and John lifted his arm to signal Sam to stop.

Sam pulled up alongside his father and listened but he couldn't hear anything except the faint rustling of the wind in the leaves of the nearby trees. Sam looked at his father and said, "Dad, what are we going…" but before he could finish, another screech filled the air.

The painful cry had come from a cluster of trees that was about 500 feet away and both John and Sam raced toward them. John was grateful that the Aswang had landed in an area surrounded by trees; this way it wouldn't see them approaching and they would be able to rescue Dean without the creature realizing they were there.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The Aswang lifted Dean off the ground until it held him level with its face. It stared at him for a moment as if undecided what it wanted to do with him, but then pulled him closer to its open mouth.

Dean resisted the urge to struggle against his captor, waiting instead for the Aswang to draw him closer. He avoided looking at the creature, choosing instead to scan the Aswang's body looking for the knife he knew was still embedded in its chest.

Just as he could feel the Aswang's breath on his face, Dean caught sight of the knife. It was too far down for him to grab with his hands so, instead, he lifted his leg and placed his foot on the handle of the knife. Then Dean pushed his foot down as hard as he could, driving the handle downward and forcing the blade of the knife upward inside the Aswang's chest.

In response to the intrusive slicing of its torso, the Aswang dropped Dean and he tumbled unceremoniously to the ground, but rolled quickly out of the Aswang's reach. He was on his feet before the creature had recovered enough to seize him again. Dean checked the area for his gun, knowing that it couldn't have been knocked far but the Aswang was after him before he was able to locate it.

Dean leapt backwards to stay out of range of the Aswang but continued searching for his weapon. A deadly game of cat and mouse ensued while Dean evaded the Aswang as he sought the gun. Trees surrounded them and Dean used them to his advantage, stepping behind and around them as was necessary to avoid the Aswang.

With any luck his father and brother had heard the Aswang's howls and where zeroing in on his location. All he had to do was stay away from the creature until they got there - or until he was able to find the gun, whichever came first. But it was beginning to look like he was never going to find the gun as he progressed further and further back into the trees.

John and Sam had reached the wooded area and John again motioned for Sam to stop. He listened carefully to the sounds emanating from the trees to ascertain exactly where they were originating. It seemed to him that the noises were slowly getting further away.

John wanted to dash into the trees to find his son, but he knew that would be unwise. He had to co-ordinate a plan of attack with Sam. John was glad to have his youngest son with him as back-up but it also posed a problem. Sam was not as experienced a hunter as Dean and his ability to assess the situation was not as keenly developed either. Even when Dean had been thirteen, he had been more of a natural hunter than Sam was. Regardless, Sam was here and he was eager to help. That by itself was an added bonus.

So John whispered to Sam, "It doesn't know you're here and will think that I'm alone so I need you to be extra cautious and not make any noise. We'll approach it from opposite sides and once we have it in sight, I want you to look for me. When you see me and I give you the go-ahead, I want you to pick up a twig, snap it in half and throw it ahead of you. Then I want you to retreat back in this direction about 30 feet. But you have to be very quiet. Do you understand?"

Sam nodded. He understood that his main job was to provide a diversion so that his father could attack the Aswang without it knowing where he was. He looked at his father with determination in his eyes and stated, "Let's go before it hurts Dean."

Meanwhile, Dean had given up his search for the gun. He knew that he was nowhere near where it had fallen because he had backed himself much further into the trees that he had intended. And now, he was danger of backing himself right out of the trees and into the open field. If he did that, he would lose the only advantage he had right now; as long as it remained in the trees, the Aswang couldn't fly.

Dean knew that he was defenseless and that he needed to remain amongst the trees until his father showed up or he found some way to defend himself. His father had told him that the Aswang would retreat from anything that could defend itself but he had done that already and the creature was still after him. It must need nourishment badly enough that it was willing to deal with a few injuries to get it. But there had to be a point where it wouldn't risk it any longer. If his father wasn't going to arrive to help him, then he would have to find that point on his own.

As Dean contemplated how he was going to deter the Aswang, he heard a branch break in the distance. When he heard what sounded like two twigs hitting the ground just a little bit closer to him, he realized that his father and Sam had arrived.

Dean knew this tactic well; he and his father had used it countless times when they were on a hunt but he wasn't sure how familiar Sam was with it. But he surmised that his father would have given Sam the role he usually performed – initiating the diversion. Dean felt sure that his father would have been reluctant to use this tactic with Sam because it put Sam in danger right at the beginning. So Dean decided that he would do whatever he could to keep the Aswang's attention on him instead of on Sam.

Dean stepped forward a couple of steps, trying to lure the creature to him, but the Aswang had turned its attention toward the noise. It remained transfixed on the area where the noise had generated before it took a couple of steps toward the area. But without warning, it suddenly turned and charged on Dean.

Caught off guard by the actions of the Aswang, Dean jumped backwards, hitting a small tree. He lost his footing and tumbled sideways, falling beside the tree. He swiftly scrambled to his hands and knees but was unable to move fast enough to avoid the Aswang. As he tried to run, he felt the creature's claws dig into his back and he found himself being dragged on his stomach toward the beast.

The Aswang's claws penetrated the skin on Dean's back and he knew he had to do something to stop himself from being hauled back to the Aswang. He tried in vain to grab hold of some of the undergrowth but he soon found himself underneath the Aswang once again. The creature reached out and grabbed Dean with its other paw, sinking its claws into the side of his body and lifting him off the ground. As he screamed out in pain, Dean heard a shot ring out and felt the Aswang release him. He lost consciousness as soon as he hit the ground.

John watched with horror as the Aswang attacked Dean. The Aswang had moved out of range as it lunged at Dean and John had had to reposition himself before he could get a clear shot. He didn't bother to aim to kill; his only goal was to hit the creature. He had to get it away from his son.

The shot he fired hit the Aswang in the shoulder and John watched as it let go of Dean and he dropped to the ground. The creature crouched low to the ground before it sprung up into one of the nearby trees. Keeping his gun aimed in the direction of the Aswang, John sprinted over to Dean. He quickly felt for his pulse and was relieved when he found one.

Sam ran over to his brother as soon as he saw his father emerge from the trees. He reached Dean at the same time as his father, aiming his gun at the trees in much the same manner as his father. But he was shaking so badly that he would be of little use trying to track the Aswang.

John turned to him and barked, "Stay with Dean." before he slowly wandered into the trees where the Aswang had disappeared.

John could hear leaves rustling in the distance and he deduced that the Aswang was leaping from tree to tree until it could make its escape. Soon the rustling stopped and John dashed out into the open field in time to see the Aswang flying clumsily away. As he watched the creature retreat, he suddenly saw it drop rapidly to the ground. But it wasn't dead or even too injured to fly. As he watched it ascend into the sky yet again, John saw something flailing at its feet and knew that it had succeeded in capturing a meal. His fear that the Aswang had successfully hunted down a human dissolved when he heard the captured victim issue a series of sorrowful yelps, identifying it as a large dog.

John knew that the Aswang would have rather feasted on human blood and organs, but that it had had to settle for any type of sustenance and the poor dog had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Aswang would rest for the remainder of the night after it had devoured the canine in order to try to mend some of its wounds. There was no point chasing after it now so John spun around and ran back to his sons.

As he approached them, he noticed that Sam had stripped off his shirt and used it to cover the wounds on Dean's back. John heard Sam muttering softly to his brother, his small body raked with sobs. John raced the last few feet to his sons and knelt beside Dean.

He took hold of Sam's hand and said, "He'll be okay, Sam." But Sam's grief-stricken response filled him with dread.

"I don't think so, Dad."

John reached out to touch Dean and he was shocked at how cold he felt.


	19. Chapter 19

John couldn't believe how cold and clammy Dean's skin felt and he immediately checked his pulse. It was extremely weak, but at least he had one. Dean's breathing was extremely shallow and he was deathly white. John recognized the telltale signs of shock and knew he had to get Dean out of the cold night air as soon as possible.

John turned back to Sam. "He'll be okay, Sam," he said, his voice full of compassion. "I promise. We just have to get him outta here. Can you help me?"

Sam nodded but he refrained from saying anything.

"Okay. Good," replied John. "I need you to help me lift him over my shoulder."

Together the two of them carefully turned Dean onto his back. Sam was shaken by the lack of response from his brother; he wasn't used to seeing Dean so helpless. But he focused on helping his father instead of worrying about his brother. If anyone could pull through this, Dean could.

John squatted in front of Dean, straddling his legs with his own. As he maneuvered him into a sitting position, he told Sam to get behind Dean and hold him up. John wasn't sure how much Dean weighed now, but he knew it was significantly more than the last time he had done this about three years ago and he knew that it would require all his strength to hoist Dean over his shoulder.

John lifted Dean up to his shoulder and he could feel the stitches in his sides pulling against the strain of taking on the weight of his semi-conscious son. As he struggled to his feet, he had a hard time regaining his balance. Sam tried to help him steady himself but the combined weight of his father and brother proved to be too much for him to really be of any help. John straightened his legs and fought to put his own physical aches out of his mind. After a few slow, deep breaths, he felt stable enough to venture back to the vehicles.

Walking up the incline back to the sub-division proved to be extremely difficult and John had to stop to rest more than a few times. Once they had navigated their way to the top of the hill, John felt like his sides were going to rupture. But he had to get Dean to the truck and was grateful that they had parked the vehicles on the road that was just up ahead.

As they neared their destination, John panted to Sam, "Open the passenger door on the truck and climb in." He took a few deep breaths and added, "I need you to help guide him in."

Sam wordlessly followed his father's instructions and they were able to get Dean into the truck with minimal effort. After John had situated Dean in the truck, he noticed that a fair amount of blood had soaked through the shoulder of his shirt where he had carried Dean. He quickly lifted Dean's shirt to inspect his injuries and was horrified to discover that the wounds on his back were bleeding. He hoped that they weren't still bleeding from the Aswang's attack and that they had just reopened from the journey to the truck.

Dean stirred as John started the truck. His eyes flickered open for a moment and he attempted to sit up in order to make some sense of his surroundings.

John's hand on his chest stopped him. "Just relax, Sport. We're takin' you to the hospital."

Dean lay back down and closed his eyes. His encounter with the Aswang slowly came back to him and he responded weakly, "Not the hospital. Just go back to the motel."

Sam looked down at his brother. "But Dean, you need to go to the hospital."

Dean tried to crack a smile. "Yeah? And what are you going to tell them? That you did this when I was teaching you to play Scrabble?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Against his better judgment, John drove directly to the motel. Dean had managed to remain conscious long enough to point out that they currently had enough trouble with the various agencies in this town. And what would they think in Emergency when the same person they had accused of harming Sam a couple of days ago now showed up with gashes that they couldn't easily explain?

Once they had taken Dean into the motel room, John set about dressing his wounds in much the same manner as Dean had tended to his a few nights back. When he was finished, he left to get some antibiotics, forging a prescription from a pad that he had taken from a doctor's office in Iowa.

Sam was too distraught to sleep and instead chose to sit beside Dean on the bed. He was careful not to move because he didn't want to cause his brother any more pain. So he just sat and watched Dean until he finally succumbed to exhaustion.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The ringing of the alarm clock woke the three Winchester males from their slumber although none of them awoke feeling the need to reach for a weapon. John's wounds were bothering him from carrying Dean to his truck and Dean struggled to wake up due his own injuries. Sam's shoulder was a bit tender but all in all he felt pretty good. Much better than his father or brother anyway.

As Sam readied himself for school, Dean attempted to sit up in the bed but he was immediately hit with feelings of dizziness and nausea. He lay back down for a few minutes until the feelings went away and then he tried again. The second time wasn't so bad and when Sam emerged from the washroom, Dean was able to stand up and proceed into the washroom.

Dean leaned on the counter to steady himself and sweep away the remaining nausea. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and shook his head. He looked like hell. Then he inspected his wounds and he realized how lucky he was to have escaped from the Aswang.

Dean came out of the washroom dressed for school. His father was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. As he pointed to an extra one he had bought for Dean he said, "Where do you think you're going?"

"School," came the reply before Dean grabbed the coffee and took a long, deep sip.

"Do you think that's wise?"

"Probably not," shrugged Dean, "But I don't have a choice."

"What do you mean you don't have a choice?" queried his father.

"Just something I gotta do, that's all."

"Care to tell me what that is?"

"It's nothing," replied Dean, before he turned his attention to his brother, "Come on Sam. I'll drive ya to school."

John sighed but didn't say anything. There was no sense arguing with Dean, he was almost as bull-headed as John was himself. Whatever it was that Dean felt he had to do, John knew he'd never be able to tear it out of him. As he watched his sons exit the motel room he remarked, not entirely joking, "I don't have any money for bail, you know."

Dean smirked as he closed the door behind him and proceeded over to the car where Sam was waiting for him. He slid gingerly into the Impala and drove out of the parking lot.

As they approached the school, Sam turned to him and said hesitantly, "Dean…About last night…"

But Dean raised his hand to stop his brother and replied, "No chick flick moments, Sam."

Sam grinned slightly and shook his head. His brother would never change; he didn't like to talk about things, he just did them.

Dean pulled up to the curb in front of Sam's school and Sam opened the door to get out. But before he did, he glanced at Dean and said quietly, "Anyway…thanks for last night," and then he got out of the car and shut the door.

As he turned to walk to the school, he heard Dean say, "Hey!" and he looked back at his brother.

"That's what big brothers do."

Again Sam shook his head and replied, "I doubt all of them do."

"Well, this one does."

Dean put the car into drive and pulled back onto the road.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean pulled the Impala into the high school parking lot and looked at his watch. He was early. There was still 15 minutes until school started, plenty of time for him to find what he wanted. Dean scanned the school grounds and surrounding area but he didn't see what he was looking for, so he got out of the car and went into the school.

After he had finished gathering his books at his locker, he strolled down the hall and around the corner. Sure enough, there it was. Right there, in front of his locker, stood Robin, surrounded by his usual clique of followers, and looking like he was holding court. When one of the boys caught sight of Dean, he nudged the boy next to him and nodded in Dean's direction. This continued around the entire circle of Robin's cohorts until all of them were staring at Dean.

Dean progressed up the aisle, stopping about 10 feet before he reached the little group and he just stood there watching them. All conversation ceased and a few of the boys slowly filtered away, either going back to their own lockers or heading off to class. Robin looked at Dean briefly and then set about getting his books from his locker.

Dean commenced walking and as he closed in on Robin's locker, the remainder of the boys scattered until he was alone with Robin.

Robin closed his locker door, glanced at Dean and asked, "What do you want, Winchester?"

"What makes you think I want something?" responded Dean casually.

"Why else would you be here?"

"Just a little friendly conversation," remarked Dean.

"Yeah? About what?" questioned Robin.

"Your brother."

"My brother?" asked Robin incredulously. "Didn't know you knew him."

"Oh, I know him all right. And he knows me, too," stated Dean. "Question is, how well do you know me?"

"Well enough to know you're an asshole," quipped Robin.

"Maybe," replied Dean flatly. "But this asshole doesn't like people going after his little brother. So I suggest you tell your brother to lay off Sam."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Winchester?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," retorted Dean, "Because you put him up to it. You're too fucking chicken to do anything about me taking Nancy out, so instead you got your little brother to go after mine."

"You're fuckin' crazy," replied Robin, as he moved to go around Dean.

"No," countered Dean as he moved to block Robin's way. "Not entirely. But I could be. Especially if anything happens to my brother. And you better remember that."

Robin huffed, "Am I supposed to be scared?"

"Only if you don't tell your brother to back off."

"You know, Winchester," threatened Robin, "My father would be really interested in this little conversation."

"Well, you go ahead and tell him," responded Dean. "Right after you tell your brother to leave Sam alone."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?"

"You just make sure that he does," stated Dean with finality, before he turned and headed to his homeroom.

The rest of the morning progressed pretty much normally – for Dean anyway. He sat through a couple of classes where he wasn't exactly sure what was going on, bluffed his way through a test and then headed to the office to serve his second detention. After lunch he went to his locker to get his gym clothes and proceeded to the boys' locker room.

As he entered the locker room, someone grabbed him from behind the door and pinned him against the wall. Dean could feel the stitches in his back strain against the sudden jolt as he hit the wall. But before he had a chance to react, Dean felt another two other sets of hands grab his upper arms to hold him still. Dean looked up and into the eyes of Robin's best friend, Andy Warner.

Andy Warner was a big kid. He stood 6' 2" tall and weighed about 220 lbs. He was a guard on the high school football team and had a reputation as a pretty tough character. And right now, he didn't look amused.

Still, Dean smirked as he looked at him. "I was wondering when you'd get involved. Seems Robin really can't fight his own battles and needs his brother or his bodyguard to do it for him."

Andy adjusted one of his arms so that it fell across Dean's neck, just under his jaw. "Listen, Asshole, I'm just delivering a warning. Stay away from Robin and his brother or else."

"Or else what?" queried Dean, sounding slightly amused. "He'll sick Nancy on me next?"

"You're such a smartass," replied Andy. "Especially for someone in your position."

"What position's that?" inquired Dean as he lifted his leg and planted his knee into Andy's crotch. As the bigger teen doubled over, Dean kicked him, knocking him into one of the boys who was pinning his arms to the wall. The boy stumbled sideways and relinquished his hold on Dean's arm as he fought to retain his balance. With one arm unrestrained, Dean propelled himself off the wall, spun toward the remaining boy holding him, and punched him in his ribcage.

Now free, Dean turned back to face the teenagers and noticed that all three boys were advancing toward him, trying to corner him. Dean hastily evaluated the situation and determined Andy to be the biggest threat. So Dean charged him, tackling him around the stomach and he fell to the floor with Dean landing on top. Dean sat up quickly, his legs straddling Andy's body and he started pummeling Andy's face. Andy tried to block the punches with his arms while he freed himself, but Dean was unrelenting, throwing blow after blow at his opponent.

Suddenly Dean felt something strike him across the back and he fell forward. He rolled off Andy and spun around in time to see the two other boys coming at him. As Dean readied himself for another battle, the door to the gymnasium opened and Mr. Thompson, the gym teacher, stood in the open doorway, looking into the locker room.

As he took in the scene in front of him, he asked, "Is there a problem, boys?"

Everything ceased at the sight of the gym teacher and both Dean and Andy got to their feet. The other two boys backed off and headed into the gym with the rest of the class, all of whom had been standing around watching the altercation.

As Dean brushed himself off, he said, "No problem. Just getting ready for class."

Mr. Thompson glanced at both Dean and Andy before he said, "Well then, I suggest you hurry because you're late." Then he turned and walked back into the gym.

Andy glared at Dean as he spoke, "This isn't over, Winchester," before he spun around and followed Mr. Thompson into the gym.

Dean checked the injuries on his back and discovered that one of the wounds was bleeding through the stitches. He carefully applied a gauze bandage to the wound before he finished changing and headed into gym class.

Dean entered the gymnasium in time to hear the teacher announce that they were going to have a friendly game of basketball during today's class. Mr. Thompson placed Dean and Andy on the same team, to keep them from continuing whatever he had interrupted in the locker room. They were seldom on the court at the same time so their contact remained minimal. But Robin was on the other team and Dean found every opportunity he could to get close to Robin and goad him. Toward the end of the class, Dean 'accidentally' tripped Robin and was given a personal foul. He offered to help Robin to his feet before he left the court but was met with a steely-eyed stare. So Dean shrugged and headed over to the bench.

As he sat down, Andy leaned over and said, "That wasn't very smart, Winchester."

Dean looked at him and said, "Why? We're losing anyway."

"Oh, you're gonna lose all right," came the reply. "In more ways than one."

"Is that a threat?" challenged Dean.

But before Andy had a chance to respond, Mr. Thompson blew the whistle to signify the end of game and motioned for all the boys to come forward. After he finished speaking to the class, Mr. Thompson told Dean and Andy he wanted them to remain in the gym. Then he dismissed the remainder of the class.

When everyone else had vacated the gymnasium, the teacher addressed the two boys, "Whatever is up with you two better end now. Otherwise I'll have to report this incident to the office. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," responded both boys without glancing at each other.

"Good," replied Mr. Thompson and he dismissed them to go change.

Dean preceded Andy into the locker room and immediately headed over to Robin. He spun Robin around to face him and seized his shirt with one hand while bracing himself against the wall with the other. He glared at Robin and stated angrily, "No more games. You got a fucking problem with me, I suggest you deal with me yourself. Otherwise, one of your goons is gonna end up getting really fucking hurt."

Dean released Robin and turned to go just as Andy caught up with him. But Dean threw a well-aimed punch to Andy's stomach before he had a chance to intervene, effectively immobilizing him. As Dean went around him and marched over to his gym locker, he stated vehemently, "And I'm just starting to get pissed off."


	21. Chapter 21

Everyone in the locker room scattered as Dean stormed over to his locker, which suited him just fine, seeing as he really wasn't in the mood for pleasantries right now. He just wanted to be left alone. He was tired of dealing with idiots; idiots who thought that he'd be scared of them just because they were bigger than he was, or there were more than one of them.

Not one of these idiots knew who he really was or what he was capable of. If any of them had faced that Aswang last night, they would have shit their pants. Or if they had any inkling that all the things they watched in horror movies were real, they'd all still be clinging to their mother's skirts like a bunch of babies, instead of laughing at their girlfriends because they were scared.

But they all thought they could intimidate him. A bunch of fuck-ups with the combined fighting abilities of a litter of puppies. They had no idea what it was like to actually have to fight for their lives. But he did.

And he was tired of these fucking morons thinking he was just like them.

Sure, they could gang up on him. That had been done more than once in the past few years and he'd taken some good beatings because of it too. But he was never the one who ended up in the worst shape. No, there were always three or four other guys who had worse injuries by the time it was all over.

And he always found it amusing that, everywhere they had lived, after one of these little mêlées, they always gave him lots and lots of space. No one had ever tried it twice, although Dean figured that was bound to happen some day. But that couldn't be any worse than dealing with some supernatural creature a couple of times before they finally killed it.

Dean looked around and noticed that he was the only one left in the locker room; he was going to be late for his next class, which concerned him about as much as dealing with Robin and his buddies. But his back was hurting and he presumed that a couple of the wounds were bleeding again – probably due to a combination of being slammed against the wall, hit on the back and playing basketball.

Funny how an excess of adrenaline killed all the pain and he hadn't felt it until now. No wonder the Aswang had been so intent on making a meal out of him last night.

Dean exited the locker room and went to his locker to drop off his gym bag and gather the books he needed for the rest of the day. A quick glance at the clock on the wall informed him that he was going to be about 10 minutes late for class. He'd think of some excuse before he got there.

Dean walked into class and was surprised to find that the teacher wasn't there and he was able to take his seat without incident. There were only a few whispers when he walked in and Dean figured that was because there were only a few guys from gym in this class. It always took gossip a couple of classes to spread throughout the school. By the time school was over for the day, most of the school would have heard some version or another about what had happened in the locker room. He was sure that most of what the school heard – and passed on – would resemble the truth about as much as a story in the National Enquirer.

But that was okay with him. If the entire school thought that Andy was going to kick his ass, it would give him that much more of an advantage when Round Two came up. And Dean knew that was going to happen very soon.

He managed to make it through the rest of the school day without incident although he found it harder and harder to sit as the day progressed. School chairs just weren't meant to sit in when your back was full of stitches. And most people tried to avoid causing extra stress to their bodies when they were injured; they didn't try to antagonize their adversaries. But since when was he like other people?

When the bell rang to end the last class of the day, Dean got up stiffly and headed into the hall. He did his best to ignore the pain and walk as normally as possible. He didn't want to add to the telling of the story by acting like he was hurt. But he couldn't help but notice that most of the students were giving him a pretty wide berth in the hallway. Maybe some of the truth had actually remained in whatever gossip was going round.

Either way, he really didn't care.

Dean threw his books in his locker and left the school. There was no point taking any books home; he seldom did any homework and tonight there just wouldn't be any time anyway. He still had that meeting with the sheriff and, after that, he'd be out on a hunt with his father. Homework just wasn't in the cards tonight.

Dean climbed into the Impala and put it in reverse. Just as he started to back up, a pick-up truck drove behind him, blocking his exit. Dean looked in the rear-view mirror to see who was in the truck. He recognized a couple of the guys from the football team, but didn't see Robin or Andy. As he was trying to determine exactly how many people were in the truck, Robin and Andy materialized – each one on opposite sides of the Impala. Dean threw the car into park, leaned back in the seat and shut his eyes.

'_Fuck, this is getting old.' _"What do you want?" he asked impatiently as he turned to face Robin, who had come up to the driver's window.

"Just to let you know you should watch your back," answered Robin. "And maybe your brother's, too."

"Maybe," countered Dean, "You should be a bit more concerned about yourself and a **lot** less concerned about me."

"You know what your problem is, Winchester?" quipped Andy. "You think you're a lot tougher than you actually are."

"Is that a fact?" queried Dean. "Because I don't recall being on the receiving end of too much earlier today."

"You were just lucky that Mr. Thompson came in when he did."

"Well, I don't see him here now, if you feel like testing that theory," challenged Dean, and he looked at both Andy and Robin as he added, "Either one of you."

"No," stated Robin, "I think we'll let the sheriff deal with you first. I'd hate to see you end up in the hospital and miss your little meeting with him." He patted the roof of the Impala as he stood up and looked over the car at Andy. "Let's go."

Dean watched the two boys walk over to the truck that was still behind his car. As they talked to the occupants of the truck, Dean put his foot on the gas pedal and revved the engine.

"I'd get out of the way if I were you," he called out loudly as he watched the group of boys in the driver's mirror. Then he threw the Impala into reverse and started to back up.

Robin and Andy quickly moved off to the side and the driver of the truck pulled it ahead and out of Dean's way. As Dean backed past Robin and Andy, he heard Andy say, "Catch ya tomorrow, Winchester."

"Wouldn't miss it."


	22. Chapter 22

Dean was having a hard time driving; his back hurt like hell and he just couldn't get comfortable in the car. He drove as fast as he could across town without attracting the attention of law enforcement. All he wanted to do was pick up Sam and get back to the motel. He needed his father to take a look at his back; he was sure that his altercations with the guys at school had re-injured his back.

Dean pulled up to the school a few minutes before the bell was due to ring. He was glad that he would have the opportunity to get out of the car while he waited for Sam. He carefully exited the Impala, shut the door and leaned over the door, resting his arms on the roof. This allowed him to shift some of his weight onto his arms, which helped alleviate the pain.

Still, the pain didn't subside for long and it was only a minute or two before Dean felt uncomfortable again. It seemed to be taking forever for the bell to ring and the longer he waited the worse he felt. Dean was beginning to wonder whether he would make it back to the motel when the bell finally rang. But he still had to wait for Sam to show up.

Just as Dean was contemplating going into the school to find Sam, he emerged from the building. Dean sunk his head into his arms in relief and waited for Sam to join him at the car. When he heard the passenger door open, Dean looked up.

"Dean," said Sam full of concern, "You look like hell."

"Thanks. You sure know how to cheer a guy up, Sammy."

"Sorry," apologized Sam as he slid into the car, "But I've seen ghosts with more color than you have."

"Maybe that Aswang got me last night and I am a ghost," responded Dean. "Ever thought of that?"

"That's not funny, Dean."

"Sure it is," replied Dean, "Because then I'd be your worst nightmare come to life."

"You already are."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When they got back to the motel, Dean noticed that his father's truck was gone before he went inside and immediately fell across the bed.

Sam came into the room right behind him. "Ahhh…..Dean?"

"What?" came the tired, irritated response.

"There's blood soaking right through your shirt."

"Figures. Get me some towels, will ya? And then call Dad."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Sam asked worriedly, as he went to get the towels.

"Yeah. I think some of the stitches need to be redone, that's all."

"You should have let us take you to the hospital last night."

"And what were we going to tell them?" quipped Dean. "I don't know any animal around here that could have made those kinds of claw marks. We didn't need the trouble. We got enough already."

Sam returned with the towels, lifted his brother's shirt and was dismayed at what he saw. All but one set of stitches had come apart and Dean's entire back was covered in blood. He didn't understand it; his father had better skills than that. How could he have done such a lousy job?

"I think you may have lost too much blood."

Just then the motel door opened and John walked in. He took one look at his eldest son lying on the bed and dashed over to him. He removed the towel and inspected his back.

"What the hell did you do to yourself today, Dean?' snapped John.

"Nothing. Just went to school."

"What did you do at school?" retorted John.

"Nothing besides played basketball."

"Bullshit," replied John, just barely concealing his anger. "I knew you were up to something when you left this morning and this just confirms it." He reached for the first-aid kit and pulled out some antiseptic to cleanse the wounds before he attempted to re-stitch them.

"Dad," groaned Dean, "Someone tripped me during the game and I landed on my back. Jarred it pretty good and I guess it re-opened the stitches."

"Bullshit," reiterated John, as he set about mending his son's back. "I might not know what really happened but I'm smart enough to know when you're lying to me. So, if you're not going to tell me the truth, don't bother to say anything at all. Got that?"

"Yes Sir."

John set about stitching up his son's back and he noticed that most of the stitches had been pulled apart. He knew that it was usually some sort of trauma that caused stitches to re-open like that and wondered again what Dean had been up to at school. He wished that he had been more forceful and made him stay home that morning. He berated himself again for his lack of parenting skills and thought about what Mary would think of him. He couldn't help but feel that he'd have disappointed her once more.

But he didn't have time to dwell on those thoughts and quickly swept them from his mind. He had to mend Dean's stitches in order for him to have some time to rest before they had to go to the sheriff station. He knew that Dean was in no shape for any kind of meeting right now. Not that an hour of rest would do much good, but it was better than nothing. And it was all they had.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The three Winchesters arrived at the sheriff's office just before 5:00 p.m. and were ushered into the same room John and Dean had been in the night before. As soon as they sat down, Dean slumped forward with his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. He stayed like that until they heard the door open.

As soon as Dean heard the door unlatch, he sat up straight and removed all looks of pain and fatigue from his face. John marveled at how well he was able to achieve a look of normalcy. Up until that moment, John had worried about how Dean was going to make it through this meeting. Now, he knew that Dean was going to get through it the same way he always did – by ignoring how he really felt and presenting a view of himself that he felt would best suit his purposes. John knew that Dean had been forced to learn how to handle himself in some pretty outrageous situations with the lifestyle that had been imposed on him and, after twelve years, he had it pretty much down to a science. At least he didn't have to worry about how Dean was going to get through this; now if he could just get some kind of reassurance from the Leaveys.

Mr. and Mrs. Leavey entered the small room, followed by their son and then by Sheriff Durham, who shut the door behind him. As they walked around the table to take seats opposite the Winchester clan, John stood up and both Sam and Dean followed his lead.

When the Leaveys had chosen their respective seats, John extended his hand to Mr. Leavey and introduced himself. "John Winchester."

"Yes, I know," replied Rick's father somewhat haughtily, but he accepted John's proffered hand.

John was somewhat taken aback by the limp handshake; usually lawyers and politicians had firmer handshakes. They realized it was an important tool when introducing themselves and knew strong handshakes made good first impressions. The fact that this man didn't seem to care bothered John. Either he just wasn't concerned enough about why they were here or he had too much clout in this backwater town. Whichever it was, it didn't bode well for Dean.

Dean felt that he should introduce himself, seeing as he was the reason they were here and he offered his hand to Mr. Leavey as he announced his name in the same manner his father had. But, before the man had a chance to respond, the sheriff grabbed Dean's wrist and guided his arm back down to his side.

"I think maybe we should all take our seats," offered Sheriff Durham. "We all know why we're here. I suppose that some introductions would be in order."

"No, I don't believe that's required. I think we can all figure out who's who on our own." piped up Mr. Leavey, sounding less than impressed. "But I would like to state that I don't really know why my wife agreed to this meeting. " And his final statement was aimed directly at Dean. "I think this will turn out to be a complete waste of time."

"With all due respect," interceded John, "I don't think that we have all the facts surrounding this incident. And that's what I'd like to find out before we go jumping to any conclusions."

"Well, I know what my son told me," stated Mr. Leavey. "Are you suggesting that my son lies to me?"

John realized that this meeting was going to be more difficult than he had thought and he knew that he was going to have to choose his words carefully if he hoped to accomplish anything. "No, I'm sure he doesn't. But I think its basic human nature to smooth over the facts when recounting an event. The truth probably falls somewhere between the stories that we've been told."

"Rick's friends have corroborated what he told us," said Mrs. Leavey.

John tried to keep the exasperation from his voice when he added, "And both Sam and Dean have told me the same version of events. I just think we need to hear all sides if we want to ascertain what really happened."

"But there's no disputing the fact that your oldest son threatened my son," answered Mr. Leavey.

"I think the facts may go a bit deeper than that," countered John.

But before he could continue, Dean interjected. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I have something to say." Everyone looked at him and he continued, "I'm the one who's being charged with assault but I don't even know the basis for the charge. I think that, before we go any further, I'd like to know exactly what has been filed with the sheriff so I can respond to that."

Sheriff Durham looked at Dean and replied, "Well son, I told you yesterday that the allegation is that you approached the Leavey boy and threatened him with harm should he go near your brother again."

"Yes Sir," agreed Dean, "But you didn't provide any details as to the circumstances that led up to that."

"The complaint just says that you approached Rick Leavey in the schoolyard and threatened him with physical harm if he went near your brother again," replied the sheriff glanced through the file. "Apparently there were a bunch of kids standing around – your brother included – and you came up and threatened them all."

"So, I just walked up to a bunch of kids and threatened them for no reason?" asked Dean incredulously.

Mr. Leavey piped up, "I'm sure that you think you had your reasons for approaching them but, regardless of what those reasons may be, you don't have the right to threaten my son."

"No Sir," stated Dean, trying his best to keep his anger in check, "But sometimes things aren't as clear-cut as they seem to be without knowing what had happened first. I mean…if someone filed a complaint that simply stated I put my hands on their chest and tried to kiss them, it might be a good thing to know that they had been pulled unconscious from the river and I was performing CPR, don't you think? Otherwise, I just sound like some kind of pervert."

"And were you performing CPR, Son?" retorted Mr. Leavey, sounding bored with Dean's analogy.

"No Sir," replied Dean, irritation evident in his voice, "But your son didn't drown either. He was fighting with my brother."

"And you think that gave you the right to threaten him?" responded Mr. Leavey. "Besides which, according to my son, there was no fight."

"Excuse me?" replied Dean in disbelief.

John didn't like the way this was going and decided to jump in when it didn't appear that the sheriff had any intention of getting involved. "This is exactly what I mean. I think we need to get a clear picture of what exactly was happening before Dean approached your son."

"To be quite honest with you, I really don't care what was happening before your son approached Rick," put in Mr. Leavey. "He had no business approaching him at all. It's exactly these kinds of incidents that we are trying to discourage in this town and that's why I want him charged."

John's comment of "Fair enough" made Dean stare at him in disbelief. He couldn't believe that his father was agreeing with this man. But John wasn't finished and he added, "Mr. Leavey, you may not want to know what was happening, but I do. As far as there not being a fight, I'm sorry, but I have to disagree with you. Something was happening in the schoolyard between your son and Sam that resulted in my son's shoulder being dislocated and his wrist broken. According to his teacher, Sam was fine when he left class that day, so sometime between leaving the school and arriving home, my son was physically assaulted." He took a deep breath and continued forcefully, "I want to know about that. And I think that the two people who can best explain what happened are Sam and Rick. I'm waiting to hear from them."

Mrs. Leavey turned to her son, "Rick, did you have anything to do with that young man's injuries?"

"Mom…" started Rick hesitantly, before Sheriff Durham interrupted him.

"Okay, folks. Seems things are getting a little heated here and as much as I'd like to stay out of it and let you folks hash it out yourselves, I can't do that. Seems there might have been something else going on that could have started this whole thing. I think it might be best to start with that." He looked at Rick's father and added, "Wouldn't you agree, Greg?"

Rick's father slowly nodded his head but didn't say anything.

Sheriff Durham turned to Sam and asked him to explain how he received his injuries. Sam hesitantly told him about Rick bothering him at school and how he didn't want to get in a fight with him so he tried to avoid him as much as possible. He mentioned that this had been going on pretty much since the beginning of school but he just figured it was because he was the new kid in school and that if he just ignored Rick, he'd get tired of taunting him and go away.

"But things kinda escalated in the last couple of weeks and Rick's been on my case constantly. It really got bad early this week after Dean interfered in a little argument we were having."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Mr. Leavey, leaning forward in his seat. "He interfered in another argument?"

"Well, kinda," replied Sam. "I guess he thought Rick was gonna hit me so he just asked if there was a problem. But he wasn't anywhere near us at the time."

Mr. Leavey addressed his son, "Did he threaten you then, too?"

"No," answered Rick. "It's like Sam said. He asked if there was a problem and when Sam said there wasn't, he just told Sam he'd drive him to his friend's house. And they left."

"And is there any truth to the statement that you were going to hit Sam?" inquired Mr. Leavey.

"Dad, you know me better than that," protested Rick. "I wouldn't hit anyone."

"I didn't think so," responded Mr. Leavey. "But I just wanted to make sure, seeing as we're being forced to participate in this little charade."

"Greg," cautioned the sheriff, "No one's being forced to participate." He nodded slightly in Sam's direction as he stated, "And this boy obviously has some injuries that he says your son is responsible for, so I think it's a good idea if we try to clear this up tonight. Don't you agree?"

Mr. Leavey sighed. "Bob, you heard Rick. He said he'd never hit anyone. And all I see is a cast on that boy's arm. We can't verify his injuries or even when they happened."

John pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. "I have the hospital report right here, if you'd care to see it." He had spent the better part of the day obtaining the document from the hospital and then doctoring it to remove all references to the bruising on Sam's neck. He didn't want that brought up in this meeting.

Sheriff Durham reached for the document and John handed it to him. No one spoke while the sheriff read the report. When he had finished reading it, he swiped his hand across his eyes and looked at Rick's father. "Says here that the injuries were incurred on Tuesday. Broken wrist and dislocated shoulder. Probably a result of a physical altercation. I think maybe we should hear these people out." Then he turned to Sam. "Want to tell me what happened?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Rick was giving me a hard time after school and we ended up saying a few things to each other. One thing led to another until finally it looked like we were probably going to end up fighting. We were kinda staking each other out when I got grabbed from behind. I think that's when my shoulder got dislocated – just the way they grabbed me. I felt something snap out of place. Anyway, Rick came at me and I tried to use my arms to defend myself but he grabbed my wrist and bent it backwards until it snapped. So I started using my feet to try to keep him away from me. That's when Dean showed up."

"Aww, you're so full of shi…" started Rick before he glanced at both his parents. "I mean, that's not what happened. We were having some words, like he said. But we weren't fighting – just kinda buggin' each other. And I guess Sam didn't like it, so he took a swing at me. That's when Carl grabbed him. To stop him from hitting me. But he wouldn't calm down so Jimmy grabbed his other arm. And that's when his brother showed up and threatened all of us."

"So, how'd he get his injuries, Rick?" queried the sheriff. He was rather skeptical of Rick's story but he had no way of verifying his doubts unless Rick tripped himself up.

Rick looked at him, bewildered and shrugged, "I honestly don't know. Maybe his brother did it after we left."

"Now, Rick," advised Sheriff Durham, "That doesn't sound very plausible, does it?"

"Well, I dunno," replied Rick smugly. "You should have seen how mad his brother was the day before when he saw Sam walking across the park. Sam obviously didn't want to talk to him because, as soon as he saw him, he turned and headed off in the other direction." Rick looked at Dean, a small smirk on his face as he continued, "And Dean was so mad he drove his car onto the grass after him and threatened him if he didn't get in the car." Then he looked back at the sheriff and added, "So you tell me if you think it's possible."

'_Aww, fuck,' _thought Dean. _'I can't believe this. I'm getting screwed.'_


	23. Chapter 23

'_You little fucking bastard,' _thought Dean. _'If I ever get my hands on you, there won't be anyone in this world – not your parents, your brother, the sheriff, or even **my** father – who'll be able to help you."_

Underneath the table, Dean clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to alleviate his anger. Everyone was staring at him. Everyone that is – except Sam. Sam was staring down at his hands, softly pressing his hands onto the table and trying his best to pretend that he wasn't here.

Dean focused on his little brother, silently willing him to look at him. _'See what you've done? See how much trouble you've caused just because you didn't want to stand up to Rick? I hope you can see what he's really like now.'_

Dean stopped scrutinizing his brother and let his eyes wander around the room, halting briefly to look at each occupant in the room. He knew they were all waiting for him to respond to Rick's allegations. But why should he? They were just that – allegations. And he had no way to back them up. Not unless he had depositions from any of the kids who were in the park - or Sammy opened his big mouth and agreed with him. But Dean didn't think either one of those was likely.

No, he had no intention of responding; he was just going to wait to see what happened next.

Sam slowly lifted his head and glared at Rick. "You're lying," he accused vehemently. "You and your buddies did this to me and you know it. You just want to pin it on Dean so the sheriff will charge him with assaulting you. You knew that the minute I told the sheriff that you did this to me, your stupid assault charge didn't hold water."

"Now, just a minute, young man…" started Mr. Leavey.

"No," interrupted Sam cantankerously. "Your son and his friends were ganging up on me. Dean only jumped in to stop them. No one else was going to help me. Dean doesn't deserve any of this."

John reached out and put his hand on Sam's arm to silence him. Sam may have been right, but antagonizing the Leaveys wasn't going to help Dean. They had to be patient and let the sheriff reveal all the facts; that way, Mr. Leavey wouldn't be able to hide behind his role as deputy-mayor in order to ensure that Dean was charged.

"Son," said Sheriff Durham gently to Sam, "Did your brother threaten you at the park like Rick said?"

"No," huffed Sam. "It wasn't like that," "He was just mad because I wouldn't get in the car."

"And why wouldn't you get in the car?" asked the sheriff.

"Because I was mad at him."

"For what?"

"For getting involved in the argument between Rick and I at school. I wanted to handle it myself and I was mad that he just jumped in."

"You mean when he asked you if there was a problem?" asked the sheriff, trying to get the order of events clear in his head.

"Yeah. I knew it would just make things worse with Rick. I just wanted Rick to leave me alone but, after Dean had jumped in, I knew that wasn't going to happen," explained Sam irritably. "So I didn't want to talk to him when he drove up to the park. That's why I headed back the other way."

"And that made your brother mad?"

"Well, yeah…I guess," conceded Sam and he glanced at his brother, "I mean…Rick and his friends were at the park and when Dean saw them, I guess he was afraid of what might have happened if he hadn't shown up when he did. I suppose it pissed him off when I turned around and started walking away, so he just drove the car onto the grass to catch up to me as fast as he could."

"But did he threaten you when he reached you?" asked Rick's father impatiently.

It was Rick who answered, "Yeah, he did. We could all hear it from where we were standing. He yelled at Sam and said told him he'd be sorry if he had to get out and drag him back to the car. That's when Sam turned around and went over to the car. But you could tell he was scared, because he just stood there for a minute before he opened the door and actually got in the car."

"Look, Genius…" replied Dean, leaning forward in his seat and pointing a finger at Rick.

"OKAY, PEOPLE," intervened the sheriff. "Seems like a few too many people in this room are a little hot under the collar right now." Then he turned to Dean and declared, "If you make any more moves or gestures towards him," indicating Rick, "I will immediately have you removed from this room and charged. There'll be no more time for discussion. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, Sir," answered Dean as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He refrained from looking at his father, knowing full well that he would not be amused by his little outburst.

The sheriff looked at Sam and asked, "Did your brother intimidate you into getting in the car?"

"No," stated Sam emphatically. "Dean can be pretty dramatic sometimes and he tends to act like he's one of my parents, but I wasn't afraid of him, or worried that he'd hurt me. I had really just wanted to piss him off for getting involved in the argument at school. That's why I left my friend's before he got there and why I turned around when I saw him at the park. But I wasn't afraid of getting into the car with him."

"And I gather you succeeded in making him mad?" asked the sheriff, sounding a bit amused.

Sam stole a quick glance at Dean, "Yeah. He was really pissed. So I figured I might as well get in the car and let him drive me home. I really didn't want to make him any madder so that he would decide to just leave me there and I'd have to walk home by myself."

"But wasn't that what you wanted when you left your friend's house?"

"Not really," conceded Sam. "I knew he'd come looking for me. You'd have to know Dean to know that he would never just go home without me. He'd have spent all night looking for me if he hadn't found me." He shrugged as he added, "He's just like that."

"But once he found you at the park – would he have just gone home without you?" asked Sheriff Durham.

"He never would have left me there alone, especially seeing as Rick was there. But he was pretty mad. I guess I figured there was no point making him any madder," admitted Sam. "Besides, I'm really not supposed to walk home by myself. If I hadn't gotten into the car, I'd have been in real trouble with my Dad."

"So," contemplated the sheriff, "You brother was really just looking out for you. That's why he was mad – because he didn't think you were being careful enough? And you were disobeying your father?"

"Something like that," agreed Sam.

Sheriff Durham thought for a few minutes. It was obvious that Dean hadn't been the cause of Sam's injuries. He had simply reacted to Sam's behavior the same way that thousands of parents do with their children every day. Hell, he was only a teenager himself and he had been frustrated by his brother's actions. Lots of people far older than Dean say the same types of things to their kids when they're frustrated with them; it doesn't mean that they'd actually hurt them. Dean had just been vocalizing his frustration, not threatening his brother.

But he still had the issue of Sam's injuries to think about. He was sure that Rick Leavey had been involved in harming him somehow; he'd heard lots of stories about the Leavey boy's using their father's position in this town to get away with everything this side of murder.

Sheriff Durham addressed Rick. "So…why are you giving Sam a hard time? He seems like a nice enough boy."

Rick realized that he had some backpedaling to do; it wouldn't look good for him if it sounded like he was picking on Sam. "I don't really give him a hard time. It's just that he doesn't really fit in with the rest of the kids at school. We all kinda laugh and joke round all the time and he doesn't like to do that. I've been trying to get him to join in with the rest of us since he moved here – so he'll be accepted. But he just gets mad at me. Like when we were goofing around the other day and he took a swing at me."

"I did not," shot back Sam furiously. "You've been trying to provoke me since we moved here and I've just been trying to stay away from you."

"If he took a swing at you, Rick," questioned Sheriff Durham, "Why is he the only one with injuries?"

"Because he missed. He fights like a girl."

"And how would you know?" inquired the sheriff. "Didn't I hear you say you don't fight?"

"I'll defend myself if I have to," responded Rick, haughtily.

"Then why didn't you?" asked the sheriff.

"Because I didn't have to. Sam couldn't hit a barn door if it was closed and he was stuck on the inside."

"So why did Carl and Jimmy have to grab hold of Sam to stop him from swinging at you?"

"I already told you," replied Rick impatiently. "I didn't want to fight him. But he wouldn't stop."

"So, let me get this straight," added Sheriff Durham. "He fights like a girl. And you will defend yourself when you have to. But you couldn't stop Sam from trying to hit you all by yourself. You had to have your friends do it?"

"They were just trying to help me," retorted Rick in desperation. "That's all."

"So it was okay for them to help you, but not okay for Sam's brother to help him? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Well…" answered Rick, confused, "No…I mean…" and he looked at his father for help. "Dad?"

Greg Leavey sat up in his seat and leaned toward Sheriff Durham. "Bob, are you trying to make this whole thing look like it was my son's fault?" he asked accusingly.

Sheriff Durham shook his head. "No, Greg. I'm just trying to find out exactly what happened."

"By blaming it all on my son," shot back Mr. Leavey angrily.

"Well," responded the sheriff cautiously, "I don't believe he's as innocent as he's pretending he is." He paused and stared directly at the deputy major. "Come on, Greg. Take a look at him. He's a little bit taller than Sam over there - and he has about 20 lbs on him. Yet he can't prevent him from trying to hit him? So, his friends jump in to help him by restraining Sam, who, according to Rick, couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. If that's all true, how is it that Sam got hurt?"

"I think you need to take a second look at his brother," challenged Mr. Leavey.

"No, I don't think so," stated Sheriff Durham flatly. "I think the only thing he did wrong was tell your son to leave his brother alone. And, under the circumstances, I think anyone else would have done the same thing. Even your oldest boy - if the tables were turned and Rick was in Sam's position." He looked at Rick's mother and asked, "Wouldn't you agree Helen?"

"Well, Robin would certainly watch out for Rick," stammered Mrs. Leavey, not quite sure what she should be saying. "But I definitely know that he wouldn't stoop so low to frighten someone younger than him." She seemed to have gained some confidence as she added, "And Rick was certainly afraid when he came home and told Robin about it."

"He told Robin about it first?" asked the sheriff in disbelief. "Not you or Greg?"

"No, he talked to Robin first and Robin convinced him he should talk to us about it."

Sheriff Durham turned to Dean. "And do you know Robin?"

"Yes, Sir," responded Dean curtly.

"And how do you two get along?"

"Fine," lied Dean. "We have a few classes together. That's all. We really don't know each other and I like it that way."

"Look," barged in Mr. Leavey, "I don't see what any of this has to do with the fact that this boy threatened Rick." He looked at John and continued, "He's obviously some kind of thug and I don't want him getting away with this type of behavior."

"He's not a thug," responded John, forcefully. He was becoming increasingly annoyed with this man's insistence that Dean was the only one who had overstepped his bounds in this instance. "He was simply looking out for his brother."

"You know," claimed Mr. Leavey, staring at John. "It's people like you and your family that we'd like to keep out of this town. It's a nice, friendly town and when outsiders move in, they always bring trouble with them."

"You mean to say that they move in and aren't intimidated by you or your position in this town?" interrupted the sheriff. "That this boy didn't even give it a second thought that Rick was your son before he stopped him from harming his brother? And now you're upset because they haven't rolled over and played dead over this trumped-up assault charge?"

"Bob," threatened Mr. Leavey, "You're an elected official in this town…"

"Yes, I am," stated the sheriff empathically, "And it's my job to uphold the law for all its citizens – not just it's prominent ones. And until it's not my job, I intend to do just that." He stood up and leaned on the table towards the deputy major. "So if you insist on going ahead with these charges, I'll have no other option but to lay a counter-charge against Rick for assault and battery. And I don't think that's what you want."

Sheriff Durham glared at Rick's father, daring him to put up a challenge, but the man said nothing. The sheriff reached into the file that was sitting on the table in front of him and he pulled out a single piece of paper.

"Just so we know that we're all in agreement," he remarked, "I want you to destroy this complaint yourself," and he held out the document to Mr. Leavey.

The deputy major glared at the sheriff as he snatched the piece of paper from his hand. He hesitated before he made any attempt to rip up the complaint he had filed on behalf of his son. "Bob, if you think this is funny…"

"I think it's justice," responded the sheriff categorically.

After Mr. Leavey had torn up the complaint he, his wife and his son left the sheriff's station as quickly as they could. John had thanked the sheriff for his help before he ushered his boys out of the room.

As they were walking down the hall, the sheriff spoke quietly to John, "You may want to tell your sons to steer clear of the Leavey boys. They can be real trouble."

Oh, I wouldn't worry about them," replied John as he shook the sheriff's hand, "They can take care of themselves."

The three Winchesters got in the truck and John pulled out of the parking lot, heading back to the motel.

Dean smirked at Sam and said, "So… I hear you fight like a girl?"

"Shut up, Dean," replied Sam, not even glancing at his brother.

"Will you two just stop," ordered John, tired of listening to the constant bickering between his sons. "We have more important things to think about now. I spent most of today altering that hospital document to get rid of all mention of the bruising on Sam's neck and I didn't have time to figure out where the Aswang will hunt tonight."

"Won't it just go back to that subdivision?" asked Dean.

"No," responded John. "It won't go back there. We've thwarted it too many times, so it will look for a new location hoping it can avoid us. I just don't know where yet. That's what we have to figure out before it gets dark."

John drove into a parking spot in front of their motel room and exited the truck, with Dean and Sam following him.

As he slipped the key into the lock on the motel room door, he heard Dean mutter almost inaudibly behind him, "Ahh…Dad. I don't feel so good."

"What's wrong, Sport?" asked John. He turned around just in time to see his eldest son collapse in a heap on the ground.

"Dean!" he called as he ran over to him, but Dean lay unconscious beside the truck. John told Sam to open the motel room door and he threw Dean over his shoulder to get him inside as quickly as possible.

Sam opened the door and hastily stepped inside. He narrowly missed tripping over a chair and he glanced around the room. He couldn't believe what he saw. The table had been overturned, chairs were upside down, the beds were disheveled, and all the drawers were open, their contents strewn all around the room.

Sam spun around to block his father's entrance before he came in and stumbled over something.

"Dad, the room's been ransacked."


	24. Chapter 24

"SAM! GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!" huffed John as he approached the door. "Your brother's heavy!"

Sam stepped out of his father's way and reached for the chair that he had almost tripped over to get it out of his father's path. As John entered the room, he kicked another chair out of his way as he proceeded to the closest bed.

He gently lowered Dean to the bed and then stood up and surveyed the room. It was a disaster. Clothes and papers were scattered everywhere. The beds had been ripped apart and the linen had been cast around the room. Every single drawer had been emptied and there didn't seem to be anything remaining in its rightful place. He shook his head slowly and wondered who would have done this before he turned his attention back to Dean.

What had caused Dean to lose consciousness this time? He had seemed okay during the meeting and didn't say anything in the truck on the way back to the motel. Granted, he had lost a lot of blood, but if he was going to pass out because of that, he should have done it earlier. Of course, he probably hadn't eaten properly that day and needed some nourishment to help combat the blood loss. But still?

John knew that he was missing something - something important - about the Aswang. And now Dean was paying for whatever it was that he had missed. But no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, the information he sought stayed just beyond his mind's reach. John couldn't understand it. The Aswang had attacked him too, yet it hadn't affected him like it was Dean. What could possibly be happening?

While he continued to search his memory, John flipped some papers and articles of clothing out of the way, looking for the first aid kit. It should have been in the drawer right beside the bed, but like everything else, it wasn't where it was supposed to be.

"Sam," he barked, "Help me find the first aid kit – NOW!"

Both father and son searched the room in vain for the missing kit. With each passing moment, John became more frantic; he needed the first aid kit and he needed to figure out what he had forgotten about the Aswang if he was going to help Dean. He was just about to order Sam to get the first aid kit from the truck when heard Dean groan quietly.

He returned to his eldest son's side and inquired, "Dean? Can you hear me?"

Dean's eyes quivered open, "Dad? What happened?"

"You passed out beside the truck. Don't you remember?"

Dean closed his eyes and stated slowly, "Yeah. Sort of." He opened his eyes again and tried to focus on his father. "I feel like hell. What's wrong with me?"

"I wish I knew, Sport," answered John. "But the first thing we have to do is get you something to eat."

John gave some money to Sam and sent him to the diner for a couple bottles of orange juice and a handful of sugar packets. He'd mix them together in the room and give that to Dean to drink. It would be a start anyway.

After Sam dashed out the door, John turned back to Dean. "When did you first notice you weren't feeling well?"

Dean tried to smile. "Last night, right after the Aswang attacked me."

John was in no mood for his son's humor and shot back harshly, "Be serious, Dean"

Dean wiped his hands across his eyes, "I dunno, Dad. As soon as I got outta the truck, I guess. My legs felt like rubber. I remember telling you I didn't feel good. Then I woke up here."

John furrowed his brow and tried again to concentrate. "I'm missing something."

Dean looked perplexed and asked, "Missing what? About what?"

"This has something to do with the Aswang. I know it does."

"What? Something other than the fact that it attacked me? And wanted to eat me for dinner?" queried Dean. "Isn't that enough to make me feel like shit?"

"No, Dean," stated John firmly. "If that's what it was, you'd have been too weak to make it through school today. Or through the meeting with the Leaveys for that matter. And you'd have felt weak all the time. Not just when you got out of the truck. It's because of something else. I know it is."

"Dad," protested Dean, "It can't have anything else to do with the Aswang. It got you too and you never felt like this. And you can't tell me that thing could hurt me worse than it hurt you. " He paused before he added, half-jokingly, "Not that I'd ever call you an old man but you're not as young as you used to be, ya know."

John frowned while he contemplated what Dean had just said. Then he remembered something he had read but dismissed as being implausible. According to some legends, Aswangs have poison in their claws, which they use to immobilize their prey. Babies, children and young adults are especially susceptible to it –all of which are an Aswang's favorite prey. But, according to the legend, the poison seems to lose its strength on older, more mature humans. That's why he had dismissed that part of the legend; he felt that if the poison could affect some humans, it would affect them all.

But now, he remembered – and he rethought his position. After the Aswang had attacked him, he had briefly lost consciousness. That's how the creature had been able to drag him from the truck. But he had regained his senses in time to stop the Aswang from gutting him and the creature had flown away. After that, John couldn't remember very much until Dean showed up.

He must have passed out again after the Aswang flew away and, in all probability, the Aswang had simply gone far enough away to wait for the poison to take effect. But Dean had arrived before the creature had been able to attack him again. And the poison wasn't potent enough to render him unconscious for long. So when he awoke, the Aswang had decided to leave instead of challenging both of them.

And he had slept most of the next day. He had slept away whatever remaining effects the poison had on his system.

But Dean didn't. He had gotten up and gone to school only hours after the Aswang had attacked him. And Dean wasn't completely grown yet – he was only 17. The poison would linger longer in a teenager than it did in a fully-grown male. That's why he hadn't known he'd been affected. And why he never had a relapse.

But Dean was still feeling the effects of the poison. Either the poison wasn't strong enough or there wasn't enough of it left in his system to immobilize him completely, but in his weakened physical condition, it had knocked him out again - briefly.

Now John just had to figure out how to get the rest of it out of his system. And he had to do it fast. He needed Dean on this hunt tonight. And he needed him healthy - or at least healthy enough that he wouldn't pass out again.

John looked at his son lying half-comatose on the bed in front of him. He shook his head and wondered when he had stopped being a father. Here was his son – his first born – lying on a bed with poison cursing through his system and all he could think about was that he needed him to get better so he could go on the hunt. So he could put his son in harm's way once again. He thought about Mary and prayed that, wherever she was, she couldn't read his mind.

John was roused from his thoughts when the door opened and Sam returned with the requested items. John set the table upright and went about mixing the sugar into the juice. When it was ready he took it over to Dean.

"Here, Sport, drink this."

Dean cautiously opened one eye and asked, "What is it?" as he reached out to take the bottle from his father.

"It's juice. You need something in your system."

Dean gulped down as much as he could before he lay back down.

John looked at him and stated quietly, "You need to finish it, Dean."

Dean sat up and said, "I know, Dad. I will," before he finished the rest of the bottle. He swung his legs off the bed and looked around the room. "Nice mess. What happened?"

"I dunno," answered John. "But we gotta clean this up. The sun is going to set in less than two hours and we still haven't figured out where the Aswang is going to hunt tonight. And I have to figure out how to get you better too."

"Get me better?" reiterated Dean. "I'm fine. But who the hell looted the room?"

"I don't know. But we have to take stock of what was taken. That will give us a better idea of who might have done this. Now…let's clean this up, pronto," ordered John abruptly.

They set about tidying up the room as quickly as they could. Everything that was related to hunting went onto the table. Clothes and personal items went back into drawers and cupboards. The bedding and other linen were placed back where they belonged after they were shaken to ensure that nothing was hidden in the folds.

When everything had been picked up, John took a look around. At first glance he couldn't pinpoint what was missing. They hadn't left any weapons of consequence in the room and the first aid kit had been found under a radiator. The little bit of money that John had left in the drawer beside his bed was even found scattered around the floor. It seemed like a pretty senseless break-in; that was until John started going over everything that had been placed on the table.

It didn't take John long to figure out that everything related to the Aswang was gone. Every newspaper article, map, information sheet or other documentation that he had recorded had been taken. There was nothing left to help him track where the creature would hunt tonight. Nothing left detailing the Aswang or its habits. Nothing left to tell him how he could help Dean.

Nothing to help him kill the creature.

And from what John could see, that was the extent of what had been taken. Why would someone break in and take that? To normal people it meant nothing. It was only important to him and his family.

And the Aswang.

John took another look around the room. Then he got down on his knees and swept his hands across the carpeting. It was clean. He crossed the room and checked the carpet in front of the door. It was clean too. John stood up and glanced at the walls. The only things left on the walls were the tacky paintings that belonged to the motel.

"Son of a bitch."

"What is it Dad?" asked Sam, who had been curiously watching his father crawl around the motel room.

"I know what broke in," stated John and he glanced at both his sons. "It was the Aswang."

"The Aswang?" asked Sam in disbelief. "How'd it get in."

"The room's clean," answered John matter-of-factly. "There's no salt, no protection symbols, nothing left to stop it."

Dean, who had been sitting in a chair with his eyes closed, trying to regain some of his strength, sat up and surveyed the room. His father was right; the room was spotless. "How did that happen? I thought you told them that we'd clean the room ourselves while we were staying here."

"I did. And it's never been a problem until now."

John turned and headed out the door to the office to find out what had happened. Dean and Sam stared at each other, but there wasn't much they could do until their father returned.

When John came back, he brought back some hamburgers and fries with him. He handed some food to both the boys and they all sat down to eat.

Dean looked at his father and asked, "What'd you find out?"

John took a bite of his hamburger before he replied, "Someone called the office this morning. Told them it was me. Said I wanted them to go in and clean up the room. That one of you boys had some friends over and left a mess and I wanted the room cleaned up as soon as possible."

"Who'd do that?" asked Sam confused. His father had said the Aswang ransacked the room but who would call the motel to have the room cleaned so it could come in?

"The Aswang. Remember it takes human form during the day," answered John. "It would have called the motel after I left for the hospital to get the record of Sam's visit and then it waited until we left tonight to come in and take everything we had on it."

"Was the room clean when you came back from the hospital?" questioned Dean.

"I didn't come right back. I didn't get back until after you and Sam were already here from school. And you were pretty sick - lying across the bed bleeding, if I recall. I didn't notice what the room looked like and I think the Aswang was counting on that."

"You mean to tell me that it knew I was going to come back sick?"

"I think so. It's pretty smart."

"But Dad, that doesn't make sense," put in Sam. "How could it know that Dean was going to be sick?"

John quickly explained his belief that the Aswang had poisoned Dean when it had penetrated his skin with its claws and the reasons why he felt the poison was lingering longer in Dean's system than it had in his. The Aswang would know that Dean would still be feeling the effects of the poison and would have used that to knowledge to gain access to their room.

Then he explained that he was sure the Aswang had them under surveillance. That it would have seen Dean collapse beside the truck and watched as John had carried him into the room. It would know that the poison was still affecting him.

"Great," replied Dean. "So it's watching us and it knows I'm not much of a threat to it."

"It **_thinks_** you're not a threat to it," corrected John. "That it will be able to hunt safely tonight, because you're too sick and I have no way of tracking it down. But we can use that against it."

How are we going to do that?" asked Dean.

John stared at his son. "By using you as bait."


	25. Chapter 25

"UH UH! NO WAY!" yelled Sam. "There's NO WAY you're gonna let that Aswang get anywhere near him again!"

"Sam," responded John unequivocally, "We don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice, Dad. And you're **_not_** gonna use Dean to get that thing!"

"I don't know where it's going to hunt tonight and I **_don't_** have the time to figure it out," retorted John angrily.

"**_I don't care_**," interrupted Sam. "You can't use Dean to get it for you."

"**_Sam_**," warned John sharply. "I will do what I have to. And you won't argue with me. **_Is that clear?_**"

"You don't care whether it hurts Dean or not!" shot back Sam furiously.

"Yes, I do care," stated John decisively. "But we can't let it attack anyone else."

"So you'd rather it attacked Dean instead?" retaliated Sam irately.

"Sam – THAT'S ENOUGH!"

"**_No_**, it's not!" continued Sam. "You wouldn't use anyone else to trap it, would you? You wouldn't let **_me_** do it!"

"That's different Sam," responded John steadfastly. "And I said**_ that's enough_**."

"It's not different!" yelled Sam, now on the verge of tears. "You don't care what happens to Dean! Just as long as you get the Aswang! That's all you care about!" And he glared at his father, his eyes filled with disgust. "I hate you!"

John was on his feet heading toward his youngest son, but Dean reacted quickly and managed to squeeze in between them before John was able to reach his brother.

Dean placed his palm on his father's chest to stop his advance. "Dad. Don't."

"Dean…he has no right…." started John. He closed his hands around Dean's shoulders in an attempt to maneuver him out of the way.

Dad! I'll talk to him," interrupted Dean in desperation. He braced himself against his father by placing his hands on John's forearms as he met his father's icy glare. "Just…go back and sit down." Then he added, "Please."

John inhaled deeply and for a minute he refused to move; but Dean stood his ground. He hated when his father and brother fought. Lately they'd been arguing a lot more often and Dean always found himself caught in the middle. But there was no way he was going to just sit back and let them go at it, and right now, they were both being irrational. If his father would just sit down and stay out of it, Dean knew he could talk some sense into his brother. At least talk some sense into him as his father saw it.

John looked over Dean's shoulder at his youngest son. Sam was still glaring at him with hate-filled eyes, but the expression on his face was akin to terror. John realized that Dean was right. He would be able to talk to Sammy; he'd been doing to it since their mother died. Sam needed someone to reassure him right now, not coerce or scare him. So John returned to his seat and pretended he was engrossed in what remained of his meal.

Dean didn't move until his father sat down; then he slowly turned to face his brother, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean carefully sat beside him.

"Sammy, Dad's right," he began. "There's no other way. I have to do it. "

"No you **_don't_** Dean," replied Sam determinedly. "We'll find another way."

"There's no time. We don't have any idea what the Aswang's planning to do. So we have to make it do what we want it to. And right now it thinks I'm hurt. It'll go after me because it'll think I'm easy prey."

"But what if it attacks you again? You won't be able to fend it off by yourself."

"It won't attack me. And I won't have to fend it off by myself. You and Dad will be there to stop it, so there'll be nothing to worry about," reassured Dean. "And I know you'd be willing to do it if you could. But you can't."

"Why can't I?" asked Sam indignantly.

"Because it knows you're not sick and it thinks I am. So I'm the only one who can do it."

"I could pretend," offered Sam and he looked angrily at his father as he added, "Dad says it prefers to hunt kids anyway."

"Maybe,' conceded Dean, "But it will go after anything that can't defend itself properly. Look, it tried to get you the other night when you weren't feeling well and now it's my turn. And besides, I can't let you do it. My ego couldn't take it. No way I'm gonna let my little brother show me up."

Sam looked quizzically at his brother and muttered, "Like that would ever happen."

"Hey!" responded Dean. "Who ran out to stop the Aswang from grabbing that kid last night? Without even stopping to think about the consequences? If it wasn't for you, the Aswang would have carried that kid off and we wouldn't have been able to stop it. But you stopped it from taking him – and that kid's alive today because of you. So you left me some pretty big shoes to try to fill."

"You already did," answered Sam, sounding completely unimpressed. "If it hadn't been for you, it would have taken me instead."

"Maybe," shrugged Dean. "But that doesn't count."

"Why not?" queried Sam.

"Because I said it doesn't, that's why," stated Dean, giving his brother a playful slap on the knee before he got up and headed back to finish the remainder of his dinner. "And I'm older so that means I get to say what counts and what doesn't."

Sam gave up arguing; there just wasn't any point. Dad wanted to use Dean to ensnare the Aswang and Dean was willing to do it. Dean always did everything Dad wanted. He never argued with him and that bothered Sam. How could he let Dad use him like that? They'd already tried to kill the creature three times and all they'd managed to do was hurt it. And it, in turn, had hurt both Dad and Dean. And hadn't Dean passed out just over an hour ago because the Aswang had poisoned him? Isn't that what Dad had said? But suddenly no one cares about that anymore and Dean was perfectly okay to go and square off against the Aswang.

'_Fuck,' _thought Sam, _'They can both be so stupid sometimes.'_

With the argument over and Sam resigned to the fact that Dean was going to let himself be used as Aswang bait, the three Winchesters sat down to formulate a plan. John felt certain that the Aswang was nearby and watching them, waiting to see what they were planning to do.

In just over an hour, the Aswang would mutate to its animal form in order to hunt – and eat – which didn't leave them a lot of time to devise a plan to entrap it. John was adamant that they lure the creature away from all populated areas of town as well as any other place where people would be outside. That would limit the creature's menu choices so that it remained focused on Dean and would provide them with the opportunity to kill it. As far as John was concerned, it had thwarted them too many times now. It was getting more cunning and bold, not to mention desperate for a good feed. If they weren't successful in killing it tonight, John knew that someone in this town would lose his or her life later that night and he wasn't willing to let that happen.

They decided to entice the Aswang to the high school; it was located on the outskirts of town and there were no houses or parks in close proximity, nor was there any reason for people to be in the vicinity after dark. Dean could coax the Aswang to him on the open expanse of the football field and the nearby woods would provide perfect cover for John and Sam.

Now, all that remained to do was to whet the Aswang's appetite so it would follow Dean and not fly off in search of a different victim. They just had to convince the Aswang that Dean was too sick to be a threat and that John and Sam would be out hunting it as far away as they could possibly get. In order to get the Aswang's attention, they decided to stage a heated argument between John and Dean, which would end in Dean leaving on his own for the high school.

John went outside to the truck and rummaged through the cab, pretending he was looking for something. Shortly thereafter, Dean opened the motel room door and leaned against the doorframe, trying his best to look exhausted, which wasn't too difficult – he was exhausted.

"Where do you think it's going to hunt tonight?" inquired Dean in an attempt to lay the groundwork for the trap.

"I think it will go back to that subdivision," replied John. He figured that was a good place to say he was heading, seeing as it was on the opposite side of town from the high school. "It's a nice night. Lots of people will be outside and this thing will be hungry. There'll be plenty of people around that subdivision for it to choose from."

Dean paused before he continued, "Dad, you have to let me come with you."

"No, Dean. You're in no shape to hunt."

"You can't do it alone."

"I won't be alone. I'll have Sam."

"Like he'll be a lot of help," shot back Dean sarcastically. Maybe that would provide the Aswang with a false sense of security by making it believe that Sam really wasn't much of a threat either.

"Well, I need someone with me," responded John. "And it's not gonna be you."

"Come on, Dad," pleaded Dean. "You know I'm better on a bad day than Sam is on a good day. Besides, I feel fine now."

"Really?" responded John incredulously. He turned to face Dean and dictated, "Then stand up straight and stop leaning against the doorframe."

Dean did as his father requested but put his hand back against the frame, using it to brace himself.

John took one look at his son and shook his head. "You're staying here and that's an order."

"But Dad – you're gonna need me."

"No I won't Dean. You won't be much help to me if you pass out again. And I can't concentrate on killing this thing if I'm worried about what's going to happen to you."

"Nothin's going to happen, Dad. I told you. I'm feeling better."

"And I told you you're staying here," responded John unyieldingly. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I made it an order."

"Well, no offense," countered Dean, "But it was a stupid order."

"It was what?" replied John, in disbelief at what his son had just said to him.

"A stupid order," repeated Dean obstinately. "And I don't like it."

"I don't care if you like it or not. It's an order," retorted John firmly. "And you **_will_** follow it. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, it's clear," answered Dean. "Except, I'm **_not_** gonna follow it."

"Oh, you'll follow it all right," stated John adamantly. He left the truck and walked over to Dean, stopping directly in front of him. He looked down at his son and admonished, "You'll follow it or it'll be the last thing you do."

"I don't think so," challenged Dean.

"What did you say?" asked John as he fisted Dean's shirt in his hand and used it to pull him closer.

"I said…I'm not following your stupid order and staying here." He took hold of his shirt and attempted to remove it from his father's grasp. Then he added stubbornly, "And there's absolutely nothing you can about it."

John flexed his arm upward, lifting Dean by his shirt. "You don't challenge my orders," he stated vehemently.

Dean hoped his father remembered that none of this was real; that they were only putting on a show for the Aswang. This was beginning to seem a bit too real. But he continued playing his part and declared, "Then don't give me orders that you know I won't follow."

"I'll give the orders as I see fit."

"Then I'll follow them as **_I_** see fit."

John stepped forward, pushing Dean backwards into the motel room. When he had cleared the doorway, John kicked the door shut behind him. He had wanted the Aswang to witness their exchange but he didn't want to risk anyone else seeing it. He felt that they had let it escalate to the point where it looked like it was starting to spiral out of control and perhaps get a little more physical. He didn't want anyone else who might be watching to decide to get involved. Best to just let the creature's imagination take it from here.

As soon as the door shut, John released his hold on Dean. "Good job."

"Yeah, you too," responded Dean as he straightened his shirt and regained his footing. "But I was beginning to think you'd forgotten it wasn't real. You were starting to scare the shit outta me."

"Good" replied John seriously, "Keep that in the back of your mind. In case you should ever need it."

Dean glanced at his father but didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed his gun and made sure his knife was securely fastened to his leg before he headed back toward the door. As he turned the doorknob, John reminded him that he wanted to put on another good show for the Aswang. To make sure it knew just how sick and exhausted he was. And when John came out the door after him, he wanted Dean to leave no doubt in the creature's mind how pissed off he was at him.

"Make it as realistic as you possibly can. Don't hold anything back."

Dean nodded before he swung the door open. As he walked through the doorway, he called angrily over his shoulder, "Yeah, **_whatever_**, Dad. You go on your stupid hunt but don't expect me to come save your ass when you get into trouble. If you don't want me there now **_– don't expect me to be there later_**."

When he reached the front fender of the Impala, Dean hesitated and placed his hand on the hood of the car, making it look like he needed to steady himself. He wiped his other hand over his eyes before he commenced walking to the driver's door. Then he propped himself up against the car before he opened the door and got in. As soon as he was seated inside, he rested his head against the steering wheel, slid the keys into the ignition and started the car. Then he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

John appeared at the motel room door and barked, "Dean! Get back in here now!"

Dean sat up and immediately threw the car into reverse. As he reversed out of the parking spot, he glanced out the window at his father and snapped, "Fuck you, Dad!" before he sped out of the parking lot, squealing the tires as he drove off.

John knew the Aswang wouldn't follow Dean right away. It would hang around the motel, waiting to see what he and Sam were up to – just in case this was all a trap. But once they got in the truck and headed toward the subdivision, John was sure the Aswang would go in search of Dean. In its desperation to hunt down a meal, the creature would see him as an easy target – sick and vulnerable; exactly what it was looking for. The canine it devoured last night wouldn't have done much more than stave off its hunger and now it would be craving a human meal. It wouldn't see any reason to go in search of another victim when there was a perfectly good and easily obtainable one right in front of it.

So, while the Aswang sought out Dean, all John had to do was double back across town, and make it over to the high school in time to kill the Aswang before it got hold of Dean. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

After Dean pulled the Impala onto the road, he swiped the back of his hand across his brow to stop the sweat from dripping into his eyes. If the Aswang was watching him, it would definitely believe that he was still sick. That little demonstration with his father had been, without a doubt, the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Challenging his father's authority and directly disobeying his orders was not something that he had ever done. And then, to top it all off, he had sworn at him when he left the motel.

Like he would ever think about doing any of that in real life.

But, he had done it and, hopefully, he'd been convincing enough for the Aswang to follow him. For the first few minutes after he pulled out of the parking lot, he drove quickly down the street – just like he would if was really mad – but then he slowed down and meandered through town like he was out for a casual drive. He had to give his father and brother time to leave the motel and head towards to the subdivision, as well as provide the Aswang time to pick up his trail before he headed to the high school.

By the time Dean decided it was time to drive to the school, it was almost completely dark. He didn't see any point making it harder for the Aswang to track him once the black Impala blended in with the blackness of the night. He parked the car at the far corner of the school lot and sat facing the football field.

Within minutes, darkness descended over the entire area. The clouds that were blanketing the entire sky obliterated the moon and the stars, almost completely obscuring the landscape. The only viable light in the vicinity came from the school entranceways, and they cast an ominous glow over the schoolyard and surrounding area. It was a perfect horror-movie setting for a battle with a supernatural being.

Dean listened intently to the sounds emanating from the shadows. But the night was quiet and the only noises came from the trees in the little woods that lay just beyond the football field. Their branches quivered in the wind and, in the dim light, created the illusion of an army of alien creatures preparing for an ambush while the rustling of the leaves sounded like their fervent whispers of last minute strategy changes before their General arrived. And once the General arrived, the conflict would begin.

And Dean knew their General was the Aswang and he was their quarry.

Dean surveyed the area hoping to catch some sign of his father or brother. But even as his highly trained eyes scanned the darkened area, he knew that it was a useless exercise; his father wouldn't risk revealing himself in case he inadvertently alerted the Aswang to his presence. So Dean had no way of knowing if his father had arrived or if he would ever be there to help him.

He had never felt so completely alone in his entire life.

Dean inhaled deeply and then slowly exhaled in an attempt to calm his anxiety. As he breathed in a second breath, he reached for the door handle and opened the car door.

It was now or never.

As he stood beside the Impala, Dean couldn't help but mull over the scene that Sam had caused back at the motel; how he had objected so fervently to this plan. And how he had assured his brother that everything would be fine. But now Dean thought that this certainly didn't feel like one of their best-laid plans. It felt more like he was walking head-on into an ambush or a trap.

And, for all he knew, he was walking into it alone.

Dean walked away from the relative safety of the Impala and sauntered across the parking lot. His plan was to cut across the football field and head toward the stands on the far side of the field. That would bring him closer to the woods and, with any luck, closer to his father.

He was also hoping that it would provide him with time to detect the Aswang's approach. He knew that the creature would descend on him from behind but the lack of light would stop its shadow from reflecting on the ground in front of him. There would be no way of knowing what was happening above or behind him or even when the Aswang arrived.

All he could do was keep walking slowly toward his destination, keeping his ears finely tuned to any noises he might hear. But he knew the Aswang flew silently; that's how it was able to move stealthily through the sky undetected by the very humans it stalked. Dean grinned to himself as he realized the irony of his situation because the plan was for the Aswang to be stalking him. And he had no way of knowing if it was. And maybe he wouldn't know until it was already too late. Like every other victim it had ever stalked. And killed.

All Dean could hear as he wandered across the field was the reverberation of his own footsteps and the seemingly endless chattering of the army of alien leaves. But suddenly the breeze died and, with it, the chattering ceased. It was deathly quiet. And overwhelmingly dark. And Dean could feel the silence and the darkness envelope him. It was as if the night was preparing to swallow him alive.

Then without warning, he heard the unmistakable flapping of gigantic wings right behind him…


	26. Chapter 26

John watched Dean pull out of the parking lot and speed down the street. When Dean had driven out of sight, he turned and slammed his hand against the doorframe to make it look like he was annoyed.

As he re-entered the motel room he barked, "Sam! Get ready! We gotta go."

Sam had been silently observing the exchange between his father and brother. While he realized that the entire altercation had been fabricated for the Aswang's benefit, he inherently wished that at least some of the things his brother had said were true. If only Dean would really stand up to Dad like that. But Dean would never do that. Not for himself anyway.

The only time that Dean ever stood up to Dad was when Dad and Sam were fighting. Then Dean never hesitated to get involved. He would jump right in and place himself between them, confronting Dad every time. He always stopped Dad from carrying out whatever threat or punishment he intended to inflict on Sam. And he did it without a single thought about his own safety.

Sam always wondered what would happen if Dean wasn't able to calm Dad down. Sam knew that Dean would never just back off and let Dad deal with him was he saw fit. No, Dean would probably continue to challenge Dad until Dad was so angry at him that he forgot all about Sam. And then Dean would really be in trouble. And as soon as Dad's anger was redirected towards him, Dean would back down and take whatever punishment Dad dished out.

So far, that scenario had never played out but, with the way the arguments between Sam and Dad had been escalating lately, Sam figured it was bound to happen sooner than later. It wasn't like Sam hadn't told his brother not to get involved – that he'd fight his own battles with Dad – but Dean just wouldn't listen. Either that or he didn't stop to think about it whenever a conflict did arise.

And Dean would never back down from Dad when the conflict involved anything to do with Sam. But he wouldn't stick up for himself. No matter what Dad expected from him. He followed Dad's orders without question. Even when Dad's orders were stupid –like using Dean to lure the Aswang – Dean always went along with it.

But, if Dad's plan had been to use Sam to bait the Aswang, Dean would have been infuriated and fought tooth-and-nail against it. And, in the end, he would have won – Dad would have rethought his plan and decided to send Dean instead. And Dean would never see how equally stupid that plan was; he just would have accepted it and done it. Just like he was doing now.

Sam was forced back to reality by the sound of his father's hand hitting the doorframe. Upon hearing his father's order to get moving, Sam grabbed the gun that was laying beside him on the bed and dashed out the door. All Sam wanted to do was get into the truck and get going so they'd be able to help Dean. He despised the thought of Dean being out there by himself.

Sam had just settled into his seat, when John opened the driver's door and threw a cluster of weapons on the seat between them. He climbed into the truck and within seconds they were headed out of the parking lot.

John glanced at his youngest son. "Sam," he explained, "I know you don't like this plan, but we really didn't have a choice. And I need you to focus on what we have to do so we can end this tonight."

Sam stared out the passenger window and simply replied, "Yes, Sir," but he couldn't bring himself to look at his father.

John took a deep breath. He knew that Sam was still upset, but he needed to ensure that he had Sam's complete cooperation. So he decided to play upon his loyalty to his brother. "Dean needs you to do everything you can to help him tonight."

"I know he does, Dad."

Sam didn't need his father to remind him how important it was that he stay focused and carry out their plan. He knew that Dean's life might actually depend on it. Sam had been actively hunting with them for three years now and he had lost count of the number of times that Dean had been there to save his ass. And tonight, he planned to be there in any way he possibly could for his brother – even if it meant putting himself in harm's way to do it. Because that's what Dean would do for him.

Sam was quiet as his father drove toward the subdivision; hating the fact that they were purposely driving farther and farther away from Dean. As he watched the minutes on the clock tick by and the miles add up on the odometer, his apprehension increased.

Finally he couldn't suppress his unease any longer and asked, "Dad? Haven't we gone far enough?" Can't we just go to the school now?"

John looked at his son. He knew that Sam was concerned about Dean, so when he spoke, he tried to keep his tone was calm and reassuring. "Not yet, Buddy. The Aswang can soar across the sky very swiftly. It will probably check out where we're heading a few times before it finally decides to focus solely on your brother. We gotta make sure it forgets all about us. And the best way to do that is to make sure it really believes we're looking for it at the subdivision."

"But aren't we putting Dean in more danger the farther away we get?"

"Not really. It'll be dusk for about 20 more minutes and the Aswang won't attack until it's completely dark. Dean knows to wait until then. We still have plenty of time to do what we have to do before we head back to the school. Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to Dean."

Sam sighed but remained silent. He still didn't like this plan, but there was nothing he could do about it. Or any way he could change it.

When they reached their destination, John turned onto a street near the back of the subdivision. He parked the truck close to the spot where the pathway curved through the subdivision and down into the open field where they had waited for the Aswang last night. As his father pocketed the keys and opened the truck door, Sam looked at him quizzically.

"What are you doing, Dad?" he asked, anxiety filling his voice.

"Come on," responded John. "We have to make this thing believe that we're really out hunting it."

"We're leaving the truck?" queried Sam in disbelief.

"Sam, don't question me again," ordered John sternly. "I'm not in the mood." With that, he closed the door and crossed the road. When he reached the other side of the road, John noticed that Sam was still seated in the truck. He turned quickly and bellowed, "Now, Sam."

Sam jumped out of the truck and joined his father. John strode quickly down the meandering pathway with Sam at his heels. Once they reached the fences that separated the backyards from the open field, John told Sam to go left and stick close to the bushes while he followed the row of fences and circled back to the truck. John would go the opposite way and meet him back at the truck.

Sam didn't have to be told twice. Without hesitation, he slipped quietly to the bushes, concealing himself in the vegetation as best he could. Then he began his journey back to the truck. If the Aswang was watching him, it would think he was attempting to hide from it in the bushes. It was almost entirely dark now so, hopefully, his ruse would make the Aswang lose interest in him and he would be able to complete this exercise as quickly as possible and make back to the truck in record time. Then they would be on their way to help Dean.

For his part, John mirrored his youngest son's movements, creeping alongside the bushes until he spotted a break in the fenceline. Then he sprinted through the adjoining backyard and hurried back to the truck.

John was a bit surprised that he had beaten Sam back. He thought that Sam would have been so eager to complete this part of their plan that he would have raced through it and been waiting impatiently in the truck when his father arrived. But Sam was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was just being careful.

John waited for just under five minutes before he started to worry that something was amiss. What was taking Sam so long? He should have been back by now. And it was dark now; they should already be halfway across town. He got out of the truck and headed down the sidewalk in the direction Sam should be coming.

He had walked about half a block when he heard what sounded like his youngest son's voice coming from a yard just up ahead:

"I wasn't doing anything! I was just going home! Let me go! My father's gonna kill me!"

"Then just tell me why were you in my backyard?" came an angry reply.

"I told you! I was playing in the field and I didn't notice what time it was! I was just cutting through your yard so I could get home!"

John sprinted up the block until he arrived upon the scene. There was Sam, held firmly around his shoulders by an irate homeowner.

"So where is your home?" asked the man skeptically. "I've never seen you around here before."

"Sam!" John interrupted loudly. "Where have you been?"

The man immediately released his hold on Sam's shoulders and stared at John. "Is this your son?"

"Yes," replied John sternly. "He was supposed to be home half and hour ago. I've been looking all over for him."

"Well, I found him in my backyard," responded the man harshly. "I was just trying to find out what he was up to."

John approached them and stared down at Sam. "And what have you been up to?"

Sam sighed. He hated all this lying they went through whenever something went wrong on a hunt – or just whenever something happened for that matter. "I was just playing in the field. I wasn't paying attention to the time so, when I noticed it was getting dark, I decided I'd cut through one of the yards instead of going all the way back to the pathway. I figured it would be faster. I knew I was late and you'd be mad at me."

John glared at his son for a moment and then turned to the homeowner. "I'm sorry about this. I'll see that he doesn't bother you again."

The man nodded and he and John shook hands. Then, as the homeowner returned to his house, John and Sam headed back to the truck. As John slid into the cab of the truck, he glanced at Sam and stated urgently, "We have to hurry."

His father's statement filled Sam with dread. Were they already too late? Would they be able to make it across town in time? How long was it going to take them to get to there? Was Dean still okay? But he didn't ask any of the questions that were racing through his mind because he knew there wouldn't be any comfort in the answers.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean felt the air moving very slightly behind him. He knew it was the draft created by the Aswang's wings as it hovered silently behind him. As it waited to strike. Waited to ensnare him. And to finally have its meal.

But Dean refrained from turning around. Instead, he kept walking, moving forward, and not altering his pace. Making the Aswang pursue him further into the field. Closer to the woods. Closer to his father and brother.

At least, that's what he hoped.

He gave no indication that he knew it was there. Nothing to alert it to the fact that he was anything more than a perfect victim. That he was, in fact, still a hunter. A hunter who had successfully tricked his prey. He had turned the tables on the Aswang. He had seduced it into a trap. A trap to lure the creature to its death.

He turned his head slightly. Not enough to be noticeable. Just enough to catch the Aswang's silhouette from the corner of his eye. To discern exactly where it was. And to determine much danger he was in.

It was close. Much closer than he had thought. Or hoped. It was sitting just off his left shoulder. Right behind him. Close enough to reach out and grab him.

So why hadn't it? What was it waiting for?

Not that it mattered. At least, not right now. All that mattered right now was that he stay out of it clutches.

Dean dropped to the ground. He rolled and spun around to face the Aswang. He crouched on his knees and grabbed his gun. He aimed it at the creature.

His movements caught the Aswang off guard. It levitated slightly in the air before it rushed towards him; its eyes and teeth glowing in the dark while the remainder of its body remained hidden in shadows of the night. It was almost entirely concealed in the darkness. Making it difficult for Dean to get a proper fix on it.

So he aimed at the darkest part of the shadow. But before he could shoot, the creature lashed out with its front paw. Dean felt its claws scrape the skin on his arm and he winced in response to the pain. He threw himself backwards, landing just out of the creature's reach. As he lay on his back, he once again targeted the Aswang with his weapon.

But the creature was fast. It darted toward him and whipped its tail at him, trying to displace the gun. But Dean knew just how agile the Aswang was and how well it used its tail. He twisted his body sideways, avoiding its tail and took his shot.

It cried out in pain as the bullet hit it in the chest. The Aswang recoiled into the darkness and Dean scrambled to his feet. He lost sight of the creature as it shrank back into the darkness. He knew he hadn't killed it, that he had only wounded it. Now it would be enraged. And that would make it an even deadlier foe.

As he stood up, he came face to face with the creature poised directly in front of him. Before he could react, the Aswang grabbed him by the neck. Dean attempted to raise the gun to shot, but the creature encircled his hand with its tail, effectively halting his actions.

The Aswang tightened its grip on Dean's neck, its claws pressing into his skin. It lifted him off the ground. As he felt his air supply being cut off, he reached instinctively for his neck with his free hand. He seized the creature's leg just above its paw to loosen its hold. But the Aswang was strong and he had little chance of freeing himself.

He felt the creature constrict its tail until no sensation remained in his hand where it was encased in the creature's tail. He knew it was trying to render his hand useless so he couldn't use the gun. But he knew his finger was still on the trigger. And the gun was ready to fire.

All he had to do was find the ability to pull back on the trigger. And stay conscious long enough to fire the gun. Because, once the gun fired, the bullet would pass right through the Aswang's tail and lodge somewhere in its body. Hopefully right in its stomach.

And that would kill the creature.

Dean's hand was numb. His fingers felt about ten inches thick. He couldn't feel the trigger beneath his index finger. But he was sure it was there; he was sure that he hadn't moved his finger. He was smarter than that.

Dean crooked his finger. He felt the kickback of the gun as it fired. And he felt the warm splash of the creature's blood spray across his body. The Aswang's tail dropped uselessly to its side, freeing Dean's hand in the process.

The creature flinched and stepped backwards. It released Dean from its grasp and he fell to the ground. His back hit the ground with a thud and he had to struggle to remain cognizant. The force of the impact knocked the gun from his hand and it bounced just out of reach. He dug his heels into the ground, trying to propel himself away from the wounded Aswang. But the Aswang brought its foot down heavily onto his chest, driving Dean firmly into the ground. He couldn't move.

He tried in vain to wiggle out from underneath the Aswang's hold. The creature stared down at him. Dean could see his reflection mirrored in the creatures luminescent eyes. It barred its teeth and let out a low growl as it slowly lowered its body on top of him.

Dean increased his efforts to free himself. He twisted and turned. He tried to buck up against the Aswang by its weight held him securely to the ground. There would be no escape. Not this time.

Just as the Aswang dropped its front feet onto his chest, Dean heard his father's cry…

"SAM!"

Something flew past Dean's head. It smashed into the Aswang, rocking it on its feet. The force of the impact caused the creature to replant one of its feet from Dean's body onto the ground beside him. The creature shifted its focus to the interloper that was now clinging desperately to its back. It tried to grab the figure off its back, but was unable to reach it. The Aswang arched its back, trying to dislodge the unwanted assailant. As it reared up in an attempt to knock it from its back, Dean recognized the figure.

It was Sam.

Dean reached for his knife and slashed the Aswang across the leg. When the creature retracked its leg, Dean wiggled his body backwards. But the Aswang's foot came down on top of him once again, immobilizing him. But he had managed to move far enough that the gun was now within his reach. He seized it quickly.

The Aswang's focus was entirely on Sam and it didn't notice the threat that Dean now posed. He aimed the gun and fired.

The creature staggered backwards. Another shot rang out from somewhere in the distance. The Aswang dropped to the ground, knocking Sam off its back as it fell. Dean sat up hastily and pointed his gun at the creature. As he was about to fire, his father emerged from the shadows, emptying his gun into the Aswang's body at almost point-blank range.

Dean jumped to his feet and made his way to his father's side. He kept his weapon trained on the now prone Aswang but he didn't fire. There would be no sense wasting bullets if his father had successfully killed the creature.

They watched the Aswang take its last breath before its body convulsed and slowly turned to dust. As the creature dematerialized before their eyes, Sam ran to his older brother.

"You okay?" he asked trepidly.

"Yeah," Dean grinned. "I am. Thanks to you."


	27. Chapter 27

John had not been amused as Sam dashed onto the football field after they had arrived at the high school and saw that the Aswang had Dean. He had tried to grab Sam before he ran onto the field, but Sam had taken off so fast that John had been unable to stop him and found himself with no other option but to follow his son onto the field with his weapons drawn. And hope that the Aswang was too engrossed in its conflict with Dean to notice the two of them coming across the field.

When all that remained of the Aswang was a scattering of dust, John marched over to his youngest son, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and spun him roughly around to face him.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he snapped gruffly.

Caught unaware, Sam stammered, "I…I was…I was just helping Dean."

"Well, that was the stupidest thing you've ever done!" exploded John. "And if you ever…"

But, as usual, Dean wedged himself between them and grabbed his father's arm where he was holding Sam. "Dad, let him go."

"Not this time, Dean," warned John as he grabbed Dean's wrist with his free hand and twisted it off his arm. "He's far too impetuous. And I can't have that on a hunt. He's lucky he didn't blow this job and get you killed."

"Yeah? Well, he didn't," challenged Dean, not giving an inch, before he continued warily, "So, just give him a break, okay."

"How many 'breaks' am I supposed to give him?" bellowed John, obviously annoyed. "How many times am I supposed to ignore what he's done wrong and just let him get away with it?"

"Dad, he's just a kid," stammered Dean. "You can't expect him to be perfect. Besides, we killed the thing. It's over. That's all that counts."

"And the next time he performs a similar stunt? I'm just supposed to give him another break?"

With that, John turned his attention back to Sam. He glared at his youngest son and opened his mouth to speak. But once again, Dean drew his father's attention back to him.

"It wasn't his fault! I'm the one who screwed up! If I hadn't gotten caught, Sam wouldn't have done what he did! He wouldn't have tackled the Aswang and risked his own safety! Or jeopardized the hunt!" He grabbed hold of his father's shirt to emphasize his point. "So if you're gonna be mad at anybody, you should be mad at me!"

John rolled his eyes and countered, "Dean, you were in a very dangerous situation. There was always the chance that you'd get caught."

"But you trusted me to follow the plan! You trusted me not to get caught! But I screwed up! And now you're blaming Sammy for my mistake!"

"Dean," warned John. "You never would have done what he did! You never would have jeopardized an operation like that!"

"That's because you never would have made gotten caught! So I was never faced with the same situation! I never had to make a choice like that!" clamored Dean. "I never had to worry about rescuing you during a hunt! Because, if I had, I probably would have done something worse – maybe even getting us both killed!"

"You always had more control than that," countered John, not giving in to Dean's arguments.

"No, Dad. I didn't!" stated Dean emphatically."I had you! And you were always too good to get caught. But I'm not as good as you! I got caught! And Sam reacted to that! He responded to my mistakes!" replied Dean, desperate to have his father understand his reasoning. When John didn't counter with further objections, Dean continued, "Can't you see that this is all my fault?"

John released his hold on both his sons. He knew that Dean was just protecting Sam; that he'd rather point out his own inadequacies than admit that his brother had done something wrong. And he was right about one thing – they had killed the Aswang. Well…maybe two things. Sam was still a kid.

He decided not to pursue the issue any longer; instead he let go of both his sons and turned to leave.

"I'll meet you both back at the motel. Don't dally."

Sam and Dean watched their father retreat into the shadows.

Dean slapped his brother playfully on the back and said, "Come on Kiddo. Let's beat him back. Then we won't have to put up with him questioning us about what took us so long."

As they drove back to the motel, Dean looked at Sam and stated, "That was a pretty brave thing you did back there."

"Maybe," shrugged Sam. "Dad thinks it was pretty stupid."

"Well, he's right," conceded Dean. "But so is walking into an open field, hoping that some bloodthirsty creature will come looking for you. Or even trying to hunt down that creature in the first place. That's pretty stupid too. As a matter of fact, most of what we do is pretty stupid."

"What if Dad had been right and I had gotten you killed?"

"How were you going to do that?" questioned Dean. "The thing was getting ready to tear me apart. The only reason it didn't was because you jumped it, not because Dad was there to save me."

Sam didn't respond but still looked skeptical as he rolled his eyes.

"Sam, I mean it," admonished Dean. "Don't take what you did so lightly. And don't take Dad so seriously. He's wrong. You saved my ass. You knocked that creature off me so I was able get my gun and shoot it. Then all Dad had to do was show up and kill it. He may have finished the job, but you started it. And everything worked out okay." Dean paused before he added, "So you should be proud of yourself. I am."

Sam just shrugged and resisted looking at his brother. He knew that, even if he had screwed up, Dean would never admit it. He could always count on Dean to tell him he'd done the right thing. And it always made him feel better to hear his brother say it.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next morning found the three Winchesters all feeling better than they had since the beginning of the week. Only Dean was suffering some lingering effects from the hunt the previous night. But before he had gone to bed, his father had forced him to drink three glasses of warm salt water to neutralize the poison that the Aswang had released into his system when it slashed him across his arm. Although, he had been almost positive that the cure was worse than whatever the poison would do to him, Dean had to admit that he did feel a lot better this morning.

Almost as good as new. And that was good, because there was still Robin and his posse to deal with.

Dean drove Sam to school and then headed across town to the high school. As he turned the corner to the school parking lot, he saw Robin, Andy and their group of cohorts standing in the empty spot beside Robin's Mustang. So Dean drove the Impala along the parking lot until it was parallel to the boys. He slowed right down, almost stopping the car, before he cranked the steering wheel and turned the car rapidly, watching the boys scatter as the Impala filled the vacant parking spot.

As he exited the car, he heard Robin utter, "Smooth, Winchester."

Dean shrugged, without looking at any of the teenagers. "Sorry. Didn't see you there," and proceeded into the school.

Dean was at his locker, gathering the books he needed for his morning class, when he noticed a pair of feet behind him. He slowly turned around and recognized Derek Turner, a kid in his English class. Dean looked at him quizzically; they had never spoken before today.

"Um," started Derek, glancing nervously around the hallway, "I just want to let you know the rumor that's going around the school."

"Yeah? What's that?" asked Dean casually.

"That Robin, Andy and a couple of other guys on the football team are gonna be waiting for you after school. They're gonna ambush you on your way to your car." Derek shoved his hands in his pockets and swayed back and forth on his feet. "I just wanted you to know. I heard what happened in the locker room yesterday."

"Well, thanks for the warning, Derek" nodded Dean. "And, uh, as far as what happened in the locker room yesterday, you probably shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Maybe not," acknowledged Derek. "But, according to the grapevine, you whipped Andy's ass pretty good and now he's really pissed off. I think it's great that you stood up to that jerk but I don't want to see you get hurt without at least knowing what they're up to." Derek glanced down the hallway in time to see Robin and Andy turn the corner. He looked quickly at Dean and muttered, "I gotta go" and retreated quickly down the hall.

Dean stood at his locker and waited for Robin and Andy to approach him, but they ignored him as they walked by. Dean watched them walk past before he set out after them, trailing the boys at a distance. He wanted to leave no impression whatsoever that he was afraid of them. Better to face an adversary than run away from it. Isn't that what his father always told him?

But, when Robin and Andy stopped to talk to Nancy at her locker, Dean shot Nancy a quick smile and proceeded on to class. He'd catch up with them later.

The morning progressed without incident. Not that Dean had really expected anything to happen; neither Robin nor Andy was in any of his morning classes. He wouldn't see them again until gym.

But he did notice that some of the guys from the football team were watching him. So, whenever he caught one of them staring at him, he met their gaze head-on. And he never looked away first. Depending on how long they engaged in a staredown, Dean would slowly break into a grin. Just a little lop-sided smirk designed to make the other boy uncomfortable. To make him wonder what he was thinking. Or maybe doubt his sanity. And it always worked; the guy would look away and refrain from meeting his gaze again. It was easy to intimidate someone like that and, then maybe, they would just keep their distance instead of challenging him later.

At lunchtime, Dean headed to his locker to unload his books and get the ones he needed to complete some work for his afternoon classes. As he turned to go to the office for his last detention, he ran smack into Robin and Andy.

"What's up fellas?" he asked as he maneuvered around them. "Surprised to see me here today and not locked up in the county jail?"

"Funny," replied Robin. "But it's too bad, for your sake, that the sheriff didn't keep you there last night."

"And why's that?" solicited Dean.

"Because now you'll have to deal directly with us," said Robin smugly. "Right on the scrimmage line."

"Well…you know," sighed Dean, "Football's not really my sport. I kinda like rugby better. Less equipment to get in your way. And not as many rules either. But, if it's football you want to play, I'm game. Just tell me when and where."

"Oh, you'll know when it happens," retorted Robin. "Just thought we'd give you the heads-up in case you decide to play chicken instead." Then he turned to Andy and said, "Let's go. Wouldn't want Deanie-boy to be late for his lunch date with Mrs. Martin. He's been a bad boy after all."

Dean watched them head towards the cafeteria before he turned and walked to the office. About halfway through the lunch period, Mrs. Martin came out of her office and approached him.

"I didn't see you with any lunch today, Dean," she stated matter-of-factly.

"No, Ma'am," replied Dean. "I was late today and didn't have time to grab anything. And I didn't go to the cafeteria to get anything before I came here. I didn't want to be late."

"Well," answered the principal, "Although I commend you for taking these detentions seriously, it's not really a good idea to miss lunch. I am willing to excuse you from the remainder of your detention as long as you promise me that you'll go to the cafeteria and get yourself something to eat."

"Yes, Ma'am," responded Dean, packing up his books.

When he got to the cafeteria, Dean bought a sandwich and a coke. Then he walked through the cafeteria until he found an empty space at a table. He had hoped to find a place to eat that was closer to a corner, where he could sit facing the rest of the tables. But, the cafeteria was pretty crowded and the choice of tables was slim. So he ended up in the middle of the cafeteria, surrounded by other tables with no way to guard his back.

He hadn't been sitting down for very long when he observed Robin walking toward him. As he watched Robin advance, he suddenly felt a sharp pain between his shoulders as he was elbowed from behind. He gripped the table's edge with his hands to straighten himself up. Before he could turn around, he found himself trapped in a headlock. As his tormentor pulled his head back, Robin stood directly in front of him, grinning wickedly.

"Think you're tough now, Winchester?" came a hushed whisper in his ear.

Dean recognized the voice as belonging to Andy but he didn't respond; instead he glared at Robin and asked hoarsely, "What the fuck do you want?"

"Just to scare you a bit. So maybe you'll come to your senses about challenging me"

"Think this is all it'll take?" replied Dean as he jerked his body sideways and planted his elbow roughly into Andy's ribcage. As the bigger teenager reacted to the blow, he stepped backwards, loosening his hold on Dean's neck.

Dean grabbed Andy's arm and swung it over his head as he stood up. Then he spun around and quickly adjusted his hold on Andy's arm until he had it pinned behind the teenager's back. As he yanked upwards on Andy's arm, he used his weight to slowly lower him over the table and hold him there.

Dean looked at Robin and grinned. "Your team's just not good enough. I still win." Then he bent carefully over Andy and whispered in his ear, "And I'm gonna kick your ass all the way into next week. Unless you still think you're tough enough to stop me."


	28. Chapter 28

Suddenly, Dean was jerked violently backwards. He released his hold on Andy and spun around, ready to take on his latest opponent. Instead, he came face to face with Mr. Thompson. He quickly unclenched his fists and held his hands innocently out in front of him.

"Mr. Thompson," he uttered, surprised to see the gym teacher standing in front of him and knowing that he was in deep trouble.

Dean glanced behind him in time to see another teacher, Mr. Morris, grab Andy and hall him off the table. Mr. Morris spun Andy around so he was also facing the irate gym teacher; all the while maintaining his grip on Andy's shoulders in much the same manner as Mr. Thompson held Dean.

"I guess I shouldn't have given you boys the benefit of the doubt yesterday, should I" exploded Mr. Thompson angrily. Without waiting for an answer, he released his hold on Dean's shoulders and pushed him toward the exit. "Well, you're both going to the office now." He grasped Andy's arm and propelled him forward and declared, "March!"

Andy lunged forward until he was directly behind Dean and whispered into his ear, "I'm gonna kill you!" before Mr. Thompson yanked him backwards, separating the two teenagers.

Dean shrugged as if he was unconcerned; a ploy designed to further incense his nemesis, although, at the moment, a fight with Andy was the last thing he was worried about. He was more concerned about what would happen after the principal called his father. That was the confrontation he feared.

This certainly wasn't turning out to be the best week of his life. Hopefully, it wouldn't be the last, either.

When they reached the office, Mr. Thompson directed the two boys to each take a seat in the chairs situated outside Mrs. Martin's office – Dean at one end and Andy at the other – and ordered them to refrain from talking. Then he entered the principal's office and shut the door behind him.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Martin appeared at her office door and summoned the two teenagers inside. After they were seated, Mrs. Martin positioned herself between the two of them and leaned against her desk with her arms folded across her chest. She looked at the two boys and slowly shook her head.

"Mr. Thompson informs me that there was a little skirmish between you boys in the cafeteria just now. Do either of you wish to fill me in on the details?"

Neither teenager responded so she continued, "From what I hear, this isn't the first time you two have had a problem with each other. It seems to be an ongoing conflict. Am I correct?"

Again, her question was met with silence.

Mrs. Martin sighed. "Well, I guess we'll just wait until your parents get here to discuss this." She glanced at both boys and told them to retake their seats outside her office until their parents arrived at which time she would speak with each of them and their parents.

John was the first parent to arrive - less than 15 minutes after he had been called. Dean could tell by the sideways glance his father cast him as he walked in that his father was not impressed. He watched as his father introduced himself to the secretary and then took a seat beside him to wait for the principal. Dean opted out of saying anything to his father, choosing to wait until Mrs. Martin called them into her office. The less he said right now, the better.

Momentarily, the door to Mrs. Martin's office opened and she ushered both John and Dean inside. John introduced himself, shaking the principal's hand, before he sat down.

As Mrs. Martin resumed her seat, she opened Dean's student file before she looked at John and stated bluntly, "Mr. Winchester, your son isn't having a very good week. Are you aware of any of the problems he's been having recently?"

"No Ma'am, I'm not," responded John politely, shooting a sideways glance at his son.

"Well," began Mrs. Martin calmly, "Dean seems to have a penchant towards arriving late for school; he's been late nine times already this year. He also seems to have the uncanny ability to smooth-talk some of his teachers into ignoring his blatant disregard of the school rules and, until his latest infraction on Tuesday, he hadn't been held accountable for any of his prior offenses. When this was all brought to my attention, I felt that it was high time he accept some responsibility for his actions and I assigned him a detention to be served that day after school, but unfortunately, he chose not to attend."

Mrs. Martin paused. John didn't say anything because he was sure that the issue of his eldest son being late for school was not the most pressing matter right now. He wanted to hear everything the principal had to say before he said anything.

Dean continued staring into his lap but he could feel his father's hardened gaze on him. This was worse than the entire fiasco with the sheriff and he just wanted to get out of there. But the prospect of going home with his father wasn't a comforting one either.

Mrs. Martin continued, "As a result of missing the detention on Tuesday, Dean was given three new detentions to serve in this office during his lunch period. Today was his final detention. When I noticed that he hadn't brought any lunch with him, I dismissed him early so he could get something to eat from the cafeteria before his afternoon classes. Unfortunately, that decision proved to be huge mistake. Within ten minutes of leaving this office, he'd been escorted back by our gym teacher, Mr. Thompson, for fighting with another student."

John rubbed his eyes before he turned to his son. "Do you care to explain yourself?" he asked, making it sound more like an order than a request.

Still, Dean responded, "No, Sir," without looking up.

"No, Sir? That's it?" asked John incredulously. "That's all you're going to say for yourself?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You can do better than that," retorted John crossly.

"No Sir, I can't," stated Dean. "I have no explanation for my actions." _Nothing that I care to explain anyway._

"Nothing?" countered John again.

"No Sir."

"You just decided to get into a fight with another boy?"

"Something like that," confirmed Dean. He looked at his father and quickly added, "Sir."

John inhaled deeply. He turned to Mrs. Martin and inquired, "May I ask the name of the boy he was fighting with?"

"The student's name is Andrew Warner. And this isn't the first time the two of them have been involved in some sort of altercation. Yesterday, the same teacher caught them in the boys' locker room engaged in some sort of argument. He didn't report it to this office because he didn't feel that he had witnessed anything specific enough to bring it to my attention. So instead, he talked to both boys and felt that a warning would be a sufficient deterrent. Unfortunately, he was wrong."

John looked at his son again and asked , "Why were you fighting Dean?"

"I guess we just had a disagreement that got out of hand."

"A disagreement?"

"Yes, Sir. I can't explain it better than that."

"Can't? Or won't?" asked John in annoyance.

Dean shrugged and said. "I don't have an explanation. There just isn't one."

John was silent for a moment before he addressed the principal. "I suppose he'll be suspended for this?"

"I'm afraid so," answered the principal. "Any type of physical confrontation merits a five day suspension for all parties involved. Of course, if the student wishes, he is allowed to present evidence in his own defense that could nullify a suspension. For example, a suspension could be avoided if the student was acting in, say, self-defense."

John turned back to Dean, "Would you like to say anything now?"

"No Sir."

Mrs. Martin leaned over her desk and spoke quietly, "Dean." When he didn't look at her, she tried again, "Dean. Mr. Thompson told me that he saw Andy come up behind you and place you in a headlock and that you simply reacted to that. Is that correct?"

Dean didn't answer. Nor did he look up.

John was getting tired of his son's evasiveness and he raised his voice slightly as he commanded, "Answer the question."

Dean glanced quickly at both his father and the principal. "What do you want me to say? That I was defending myself? That he started it? That he was wrong and I was right?" He took a deep breath and continued, "Well, I'm not going to say any of that. There was a fight. We were both involved. End of story."

"Dean, you could really help yourself if you weren't quite so antagonistic," put in Mrs. Martin. "You know a suspension will be written into your permanent student record, don't you?"

"I have nothing else to say," responded Dean bitterly. Who cared if the suspension was permanently on his record? It wasn't like he was planning to go to college or anything. As far as he was concerned this was the last stop for his academic records. He didn't need either the principal's help or his father's to work out his problem with Andy and Robin. He'd deal with it on his own.

Mrs. Martin and John exchanged looks but there was nothing they could do if Dean chose to remain silent.

Mrs. Martin addressed John, "There will be an official report for the suspension written up and a copy will be mailed to you. There is an appeals process should either you or Dean decide that you want to appeal the suspension. All the details will be provided with the copy of the report when you receive it. It is also a requirement that you and I meet again shortly after all the pertinent facts have been gathered so that we can discuss the suspension in detail. We'll call you to set up an appointment for sometime next week. I hope that will be satisfactory."

John nodded before he asked, "How can I go about obtaining any schoolwork that Dean's going to miss?"

"I'll speak to all Dean's teachers and ask them to provide me with all the schoolwork that he will have to complete so he doesn't fall behind. You can pick it up here tomorrow afternoon." Mrs. Martin stood up and opened her office door. As she ushered them out, she said, "Unfortunately, I'll have to request that Dean not come to pick it up himself. He'll have to stay away off school property until the suspension period is over. But, if you're willing to accompany him to his locker, he may get any books and personal effects he'll need before you leave the school."

As Dean exited the principal's office, he noticed that both Andy's mother and father had arrived and were waiting beside their son. They both looked about as happy as his father had when he arrived. At least he only had his father to deal with; he hated to think how much this would have disappointed his mother.

John shook the principal's hand as he left the office and followed Dean into the hallway.

As they walked down the corridor, John piped up, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"No Sir," replied Dean without looking at his father.

John simply shook his head; Dean was definitely just as stubborn as he had been at that age. "Just tell me that this doesn't have anything to do with that boy's girlfriend."

"No, Sir, it doesn't," replied Dean. At least he wasn't lying about that.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John had refrained from saying anything further to Dean until they arrived at the motel. As soon as he closed the door, he lit into him.

"**_What were you thinking? Fighting in the school? How many times have I talked to you about that?_**"

"Sorry," was all Dean bothered to offer in his defense.

"**_Sorry…What?" _**retorted John.

"Sorry, Sir."

"I want to know what was going on in your head before you decided to pick a fight with this boy?" continued John, trying to reign in his anger. "You know, one day, you're going to go too far and you're really going to hurt someone."

"Dad," countered Dean. "I didn't pick a fight with him. You heard Mrs. Martin. He had me in a headlock. I reacted. Mr. Thompson showed up. We went to the office. They called you. We came home. Plain and simple."

"So it was self-defense?" asked John, more than a little relieved to hear Dean say he hadn't started it.

"I wouldn't call it self-defense," contradicted Dean. "It was more of a Get-the-hell-away-from-me response. Followed by a warning not to do it again."

John shook his head in frustration. How was he going to survive until his boys grew up?

John had some research he wanted to complete so he ordered Dean to sit at the table and do the homework he had brought home with him. John sat opposite his eldest son to keep an eye on him and make sure he actually completed it. There'd be none of this half-assed homework completion while he was suspended from school.

Between the homework he had done during his detentions and the work his father was overseeing now, Dean couldn't remember the last time that he had actually done so much schoolwork.

When Dean was finished, he closed his books and leaned over to see what his father was working on.

John looked up and stated casually, "I'm looking for our next job. I was hoping there'd be something close by so I won't have to pull you boys from school again."

"Any luck?" asked Dean. It certainly wouldn't break his heart if they had to pick up and leave this back-woods town.

"Nothing so far," replied John nonchalantly. He looked at Dean and asked sharply, "You finished all your schoolwork?"

Dean nodded before he noticed the glare his father was fixing him with. "Yes Sir."

"Then go and clean out my truck," ordered John. "This isn't a holiday and until I can get some more schoolwork for you, I'll just have to find you other things to keep you occupied. Got that?"

"Yes Sir," replied Dean as he got up to follow his father's instructions.

Dean spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning out his father's truck. It wasn't that it was that dirty or messy, it was just that he didn't want his father to find him something else to do. So every time he found something interesting regarding a previous hunt or something his father had discovered in a newspaper, Dean read through it. By the time he had finished cleaning the truck, it was almost time to get Sam from school.

Dean walked back into the motel room to find his father scouring an article from a recent newspaper.

"Anything interesting?"

"Could be," replied John. "It looks like the Axeman of New Orleans may be back."

"Axeman of New Orleans? Never heard of him."

"It was a series of murders in the early 1900's. All unsolved. All had the same M.O. All the victims were married couples, asleep in their beds when they were butchered with an ax. Cops never found a suspect."

"And I gather there's been more of these murders recently?" inquired Dean.

"Yeah. Three couples in the last month. The police don't have any leads. Might be something we should look into. But it's awfully far away. I'd have to pull you boys outta school again. I'm not sure how Sammy would like that. He hates to change schools in the middle of the year."

"Speaking of Sammy," interceded Dean, "You still want me to pick him up from school, right?"

"Only as long as you can promise that you won't get into any more trouble if I let you out of my sight," retorted John.

"Dad," answered Dean, sounding offended, "You know me better than that."

"That's exactly why I want your word that you'll behave yourself."

"Scouts honor."

"Too bad you were never a Scout," replied John. But he nodded his head toward the door as assertion for Dean to go pick up his brother.

Dean grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He pulled the Impala out of the parking lot and headed towards Sam's school. He'd driven about a ¾ of a mile when traffic stopped dead. He could see an accident up ahead between a delivery truck and a minivan. Judging by the number of emergency vehicles on the scene there must have been injuries.

Dean decided to turn the car around and take the back streets through town instead of staying on the main drag. Traffic wasn't moving very fast and, although taking the back roads would take longer, it would probably take less time than waiting for them to clear the accident.

By the time Dean got to the school, there was no one around. He figured he'd wait a few minutes just in case Sam had gone back into the school. Dean was surprised that Sam hadn't called him on his cell phone and he pulled it out of his pocket to check if he could have missed his call.

Nothing.

After Sam hadn't emerged from the school a few minutes later, Dean drove down the street to Jake's house. He parked the Impala by the curb, got out and knocked on the front door. After a brief wait, a teenage girl opened the door.

'_Must be Jake's sister.' _"Hi," said Dean, flashing her a quick smile.

"Hi," she responded, giving him the once-over before she smiled back at him.

"Is Jake home?"

"Yeah, he's upstairs."

"Do you know if my brother Sam is with him?"

"I dunno. Just a sec. I'll check." She turned around and hollered up the stairs, "Jake? Is Sam up there with you?"

"No," came the distant response.

"Can you ask him if he has any idea where he might have gone?" asked Dean.

Jake's sister repeated Dean's question but there was no immediate answer. Then Jake appeared at the front door.

He looked at Dean quizzically and said, "I dunno where he went. But he left with Rick."

"_He left with Rick_?" asked Dean in disbelief.

Yeah," replied Jake. "I saw him get into a car with Rick and they left."

"_He got into a car with him?_" reiterated Dean.

"Yeah. A red Mustang. I'm pretty sure it was Rick's brother's car and he was driving."


	29. Chapter 29

"He got into a car with Rick and his brother?" Dean asked dumbfounded.

"Yeah, I think so," replied Jake hesitantly.

"And he went with them on purpose?" Dean inquired, still in disbelief

"I guess so," shrugged Jake. "I really don't know."

"Why the hell would he do that?" asked Dean, more to himself than to Jake. "This is the same kid who was gonna beat the snot outta him a couple of days ago!"

Jake just shrugged his shoulders and looked at Dean. He didn't know why Sam had gone off with Rick and he didn't know how to answer his brother's questions.

Dean frowned and remained standing at the entrance to Jake's home making both Jake and his sister a little uncomfortable. But he was lost in thought, trying to figure out why his brother would have gone off with Rick and Robin and it had simply slipped his mind that he was still standing at their door.

After a moment, Dean snapped back into reality and smiled quickly at Jake and his sister, said, "Thanks" and turned to leave.

As he walked back to the Impala he turned around and asked, "You wouldn't have any idea where they might have gone, would you?"

Jake shrugged uncomfortably, "No. Sorry."

Dean sat in his car and stared out the windshield, once again deep in thought. He had no idea where Robin would have taken his brother or what he planned to do with him. But he was positive that this was all designed as payback for him. And Sammy was just being used as the pawn.

Dean started the Impala and pulled away from the curb. He really didn't know where he was headed; there was no way he was going back to the motel without his brother and he had absolutely no idea where Robin would have taken Sam. He didn't even know where he lived. Not that Robin would be stupid enough to take Sam to his house.

So how was he going to find Sam?

Then it came to him.

Nancy would know where Robin would be. And wherever Robin was, that's where Sammy would be.

When Dean drove up to Nancy's house, he saw her mother working in the front garden, so he parked the car by the curb, got out and started walking up the laneway.

"Mrs. Torchak," he called out as he approached her.

Nancy's mother turned around and recognized him immediately. "Dean!" she responded, more than a little surprised to see him.

"Is Nancy home?"

"No, I'm sorry, she's not."

Mrs. Torchak had taken an instant liking to Dean Winchester when she had first met him. He was polite and charming and she thought he was a much better match for her daughter than Robin Leavey, whom her daughter had been dating throughout high school. She found Robin to be not only snobbish but also conniving and perhaps a bit untrustworthy. There was just something about him that rubbed her the wrong way and she had been more than a little happy when Nancy had come home earlier this year and told her that she was dating someone else. She had gushed almost non-stop about this new boy at school since the start of the school year and when Dean had finally asked her out, she had dropped Robin like a hot potato. That's why she couldn't understand it when Nancy ended up back with Robin just a few weeks later and wouldn't even talk about what had happened. But who could understand teenagers?

"Would you know where I might be able to find her?" asked Dean politely.

"She's probably at Maxfield's with some of her friends. That's where she usually goes on Fridays after school." "She smiled and added, almost regrettably, "That is, if she's not with Robin."

"Thanks," responded Dean, ignoring the comment about Robin because he doubted very much that Nancy would be with Robin tonight. Before he turned to leave he asked, "If she happens to come home, can you ask her to call me? I think she still has my number."

"Of course," she replied, knowing that his phone number was still listed as number 7 on their speed-dial. Something else she didn't quite understand.

Maxfield's was the little diner just down the road from the high school. It made sense that Nancy would be there; it seemed to be the focal point for the local teenagers in this town. When Dean had first taken Nancy out, she had been adamant that they end their date at Maxfield's and he was pretty sure that it was so she could "show him off" to everyone in town. He had gone along with it because he figured it was the fastest way to get the gossip going and let Robin know that he had taken his girlfriend out.

Now he drove over there not quite sure what kind of a reception she was going to give him. Not that he was really concerned. If Nancy wouldn't talk to him, he was pretty sure one of her girlfriends would.

Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot right in front of Maxfield's and looked into the diner through the big picture window. Sure enough, there was Nancy sitting with three of her friends. Dean only recognized two of the other girls and knew both of them were going steady with a couple of Robin's teammates on the football team. He couldn't remember ever seeing the fourth girl before which could work in his favor if Nancy wouldn't talk to him; she'd probably talk to him without too much persuasion.

Dean strode confidently into the diner, walking right up to the cash without looking around. After he ordered a coke, he casually spun around and leaned against the counter so he could survey the room. He let his gaze fall on Nancy and her friends and when the waitress brought him his drink, he nonchalantly wandered across the room until he stood directly in front of their booth.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked with a smile.

"Sure," replied the girl he didn't know. She picked up her purse and scooted over in the seat to make room for him to sit beside her, which earned her a nasty scowl from Nancy.

'_So far, so good.'_

Dean sat down next to her, moving over in the seat until was sitting opposite Nancy. But he ignored Nancy as he turned to the girl he was sitting beside and introduced himself. "Hi. I'm Dean," he smiled sweetly. "And you are?"

"Heather Tait."

Dean looked across the table at Nancy and asked casually, "Sooo…where's Robin?" as he glanced around the small diner, pretended to look for him.

"He's not here," she replied coldly.

'_A little icy, but nothing I can't handle.' _"I can see that," he answered with a smile. "Does he always make a habit out of leaving you alone on Friday nights?"

"Only when he's busy," came the chilly response.

"_Okay…Looks like I'm gonna have to work a bit at this.' _"Too busy for you?" he asked, sounding amazed. Then he shook his head and added, "That's just not right."

"What's not right?" Nancy asked curiously.

"That he'd have something better to do on a Friday night than spend it with you."

"He told me he'd see me later," Nancy countered.

"Really?" asked Dean skeptically. "Later…when?"

"I dunno," replied Nancy uneasily. "He didn't say. He just said later."

"Oh," continued Dean undaunted, '_Guess I'm gonna have to coax it outta her.' _"Well, where could he possibly have gone that he couldn't take you with him?"

"He had to go to his family's vacation house on Grand Lake and he told me he'd call me when he got back."

"Is that so," stated Dean incredulously. "He just had to go out there all by himself on a Friday night?"

"A few of the guys from the football team went with him," explained Nancy awkwardly. "He said he had to do something for his parents." All Dean's questions were making her wonder what Robin was really doing – and who he was doing it with - but she found herself trying to defend him anyway.

"He and a couple o' football players went to his family's vacation home on a Friday night because he had to do something for his parents? And they couldn't take their girlfriends?" Then he shrugged dispassionately, "Sure doesn't sound too kosher to me."

Dean doubted that any of the girls had received much in the way of explanations from their boyfriends as to what they were up to and he was hoping that his comments and questions would plant just enough tiny seeds of suspicion in the girls' minds. Make them just uncertain enough to decide they had to find out exactly what their boyfriends were doing.

He took a slow sip of his drink as he sat back and watched the girls innocently. Nancy took her cell phone out of her purse and dialed one of the pre-programmed numbers in its directory; no doubt she was trying to call Robin. Dean placed his arm across the back of the seat making it look like he might be taking the first move to put his arm around Heather. He caught Nancy's unhappy glare before she quickly looked away.

Dean turned to Heather and said, "I haven't seen you around school."

Heather smiled back at him and said, "Oh, I'm not from around here. I'm just visiting for the weekend. Nancy and I are cousins."

Dean nodded as he watched Nancy hang up the phone and immediately dial another number. Obviously whomever she had phoned had not answered and he noted that she didn't look very happy. He looked back at Heather and asked with interest, "Do you visit your cousin often?"

"Usually every couple of months," replied Heather before she added brightly, "But I'd come more often if I had a reason."

Nancy's second call had also gone unanswered and Dean noted that she hadn't left a message. "Guess he must be too busy to talk to you right now," he stated offhandedly before he picked up his drink and finished it. As he stood up, he said, "Been nice chattin' with you ladies but, unfortunately I have to go. Have a _wonderful_ evening together." He smiled at Heather as he added, "Maybe I'll catch up with you later."

Dean sauntered out of the diner and got into the Impala. He sat in the car for a few minutes pretending that he was fiddling with the car radio while he watched the girls through the window. They were deep in conversation when he pulled out of the parking lot. And he hoped he knew what they were discussing.

Dean drove down the highway in the direction of Grand Lake. After he had driven about eight miles, he pulled onto a sideroad and turned the Impala around so it sat facing the highway. He let the car idle as he waited behind some trees, just out of sight from the cars traveling on the highway but where he could observe every car that passed by. About twenty minutes later he saw Nancy's car drive by with the four girls inside. Dean smiled to himself knowing that he had been successful in arousing their curiosity about what their boyfriends were doing and that they were going to lead him right to Sam in their attempt to find them. He cautiously pulled back onto the highway and followed them, keeping just far enough behind so they wouldn't recognize his car and know he was trailing them.

Dean shadowed the girls for the entire trip to Grand Lake. When Nancy turned onto a road that looked like it led into a cluster of private homes, Dean didn't follow her. Instead he kept driving down the road until he found a place he could pull over and wait. He didn't want to follow the girls up to the Leavey's house and risk everyone seeing him and recognizing his car. He figured he'd wait a few minutes to let them get to Robin's and go inside. And then Robin and his buddies would be too busy dealing with their girlfriends to even think about him.

Ten minutes later, Dean proceeded down the road in the direction he had seen Nancy drive. Each time he came to a house, he slowed down to check out the vehicles that were parked in the laneway. At the ninth laneway, he hit pay dirt; there were both Robin's Mustang and Nancy's Honda Civic along with the pickup truck that had blocked his exit from school the other day.

Dean quickly scrutinized both the house and surrounding yard before he drove on. A thick stone wall encircled the entire property and an imposing wrought-iron gate closed off the driveway to unwanted visitors, both of which were designed to keep the grounds private and inaccessible.

Dean hadn't planned on driving up to the house and walking in the front door anyway. But, with the way the property was protected by the huge wall, Dean was sure there would be some sort of security systems he'd have to deal with before he even made it to the house. Not that he was all that concerned about it. He'd had to gain access to lots of places with heavier security than this place would have. After all, it was only a private residence and there were a whole bunch of people inside. Most of the security devices would already be turned off. It was usually harder to get into an empty building than an occupied one.

While getting in would be the easy part, getting out unnoticed might be a bit more difficult, especially if Sammy was hurt. And there was always the chance that they wouldn't get out undiscovered but would have an angry posse on their tails. In either case it would be hard enough to breach the distance across the yard but scaling that wall would not be easy. Still, he had done harder things. And so had Sammy.

Dean slowly backed the Impala down the road; he'd find a place to park it just out of sight. As he contemplated where he would leave the car, Dean noticed an almost inconspicuous trail on the far side of the road. The trail wasn't well used or even that noticeable but it looked wide enough for him to park the Impala. And, if he backed it up far enough, it would be next to impossible to see the car from the road once it got dark.

After he finished concealing the car in the bushes, Dean found a broken branch and swept it across the tire tracks that the Impala had made as he backed it onto the trail. He didn't want to leave any viable sign that a car had recently been backed into the vegetation. You never knew what was going to happen and it never hurt to take extra precautions.

Dean glanced down the road to make sure everything was quiet before he set out for the Leavey's house. He stayed close to the bushes in case someone were to come unexpectedly down the road. It was just getting dark as Dean neared the house. He looked carefully through the ornate gate for any sign of movement in the yard. When nothing caught his eye, he jogged quickly along the wall until he came to a spot where some of the stones were starting to crumble. He used the ruts in the wall to anchor his feet as he scrambled up to the top.

Dean lay horizontally across the top of the stone wall to minimize the risk of anyone seeing him as he once again surveyed the yard and the house. None of the exterior lights were on so the yard was swathed in almost complete darkness, which would camouflage his approach unless the outside lights were attached to a motion-sensor. In that case, he'd have to be extra-vigilant as he made his way toward the house.

Inside the house, lights were on in various rooms including most of the rooms on the main floor. From his position on the wall, Dean could see right into the main room and he noticed that three of the four girls were there. But he only saw two male figures in the same room as the girls, which left at least three other people unaccounted for. As Dean observed the house, he rapidly determined that the two males in the room were the boyfriends of Nancy friends. So that left, Nancy, Robin and Rick all unaccounted for. And probably Andy too. Dean didn't think he'd miss out on an opportunity to get even with him.

Dean scurried along the top the wall until he reached the rear corner of the yard. From there he could see into the large kitchen at the back of the house. Sure enough, there were Robin and Nancy, engaged in what looked like a rather heated argument.

'_Perfect.'_

Dean could see movement in one of the upstairs rooms but the window was obscured by a closed curtain so he was unable to determine exactly what was happening, although he was willing to bet that's where they were keeping Sammy. He lay still for a few minutes as he evaluated the situation.

All together, Dean figured there were at least nine people in the house not including his brother. The four girls wouldn't be a problem and their presence might even work to his advantage should he get caught. Girls usually weren't into violence and from the looks he had gotten from both Nancy and Heather, they probably wouldn't take too kindly to Robin and his buddies assaulting him. Of course, it would be better not to get caught and have to test that theory.

Dean would have liked to stake out the house for a bit longer to obtain a better idea of the house's layout and to determine exactly how many people were in there, but he didn't want to give them any more time to get comfortable. Not to mention the fact that he didn't have any idea what was happening with his brother and wasn't too crazy about the idea of him being in there alone with Robin and all his cronies. So, he carefully slid off the wall taking care to remain hidden in the shadows obscuring the rear corner of the property.

Dean discreetly advanced toward the house using the trees that were growing randomly around the yard to shield himself. With each stop he made, he carefully scanned the property for any type of security devices that he might accidentally trigger before he progressed closer to his target. He was somewhat surprised at the lack of safety precautions in the yard. The only equipment he was able to pick out were the motion-detection lights attached to the sides of the house.

When he reached the house without activating any of the exterior lights, Dean crept slowly along the side of the house until he came to a set of patio doors leading into a darkened room. Dean glanced between the slats of the vertical blinds and noticed that these doors led into a bedroom which was a perfect room through which to gain access into the house. The bedroom was probably pretty secluded from the rest of the main floor and, hopefully, not far from the stairs to the second floor. Once he got inside, all he'd have to do was go up those stairs, find Sammy and get them both the hell out of there.

Piece of cake. Especially with how easy it was to break in through patio doors.

Dean slipped silently into the room and quietly slid the patio door shut. Just as he closed the patio door, the exterior lights to the back deck clicked on. Dean backed up against the wall and moved one of the blind slats minutely in order to see what was going on outside.

Robin emerged from the house and walked to the middle of the deck. He glanced around the yard before he looked back into the house and motioned for someone to bring something out to him. Dean watched as Sam came out of the house next, flanked by Marty Wallace and Eric Bennett, the two boyfriends of the girls who were with Nancy. After they had joined Robin on the deck, Dean saw Rick come out of the house and go to stand right beside Sam.

Dean waited patiently to see what they were going to do; Sam didn't seem to be in any immediate danger and, after quickly checking him out, Dean was satisfied that no harm had come to him either.

Not yet, anyway.

Suddenly, Robin yelled out across the backyard, "WINCHESTER!" He paused and listened to the echo of his cry reverberate across the darkened area before he called out loudly, "**We know you're out there! There's no point hiding anymore!**"

Okay…so they knew he was here. Not that he was all that surprised. They had to figure he'd come after Sam. After all, that must have been the point of taking him in the first place. To get Dean to come after him. Still, Dean didn't move from his hiding spot. He remained pressed against the wall, observing the scene on the back deck. They might know he was here, but they obviously didn't know he had already gotten into the house. No point revealing his whereabouts until he knew exactly what they were up to.

"**Come on out Winchester,**" persuaded Robin vociferously. "**Time for you to take your licks like a man! Unless, of course, you're willing to let your brother take them for you!**"

With that, Robin nodded toward his brother and Rick swiftly punched Sam in the abdomen , causing him to fall to his knees. Dean watched helplessly as Marty and Eric grabbed Sam and hauled him back to his feet. As they held him securely by his arms, Dean saw Rick flick a small pocketknife open and approach Sam. He held it up to Sam's cheek and looked at his brother as if waiting for permission to slice it across Sam's face.

"**Come out, come out, wherever you are**," rhymed off Robin wickedly. "**Or I'm gonna let my brother start carving up his pretty little face!**"


	30. Chapter 30

Dean dropped the blind and pressed his tightly clenched fists firmly against the wall. He could feel his rage rapidly intensifying and it was all he could do to prevent himself from running out there and killing each and every one of them right then and there.

And he was going to start with Robin.

'_I'm gonna kill that fucking bastard! Sometime tonight. He's fucking dead!'_

But he knew that he had to control his temper and think rationally; if he acted out of impulse or anger, he would just make the situation worse. There was no way he could take down five guys at the same time. His only chance would be to separate them. He'd be able to handle two of them at a time: preferably Robin and Andy first. And, once he got to Sammy, they'd be able to deal with the other three together. So he tried to settle himself down by taking slow, deep breaths before he gently lifted the blind and peered outside to check on what was happening.

Everyone was still standing on the deck. Nothing had changed. Marty and Eric were holding Sammy while Rick held the knife to his cheek. Robin was staring out across the yard; no doubt waiting for Dean to materialize from the shadows.

Only that wasn't going to happen.

This had to be a ruse, a ploy designed to trick him into revealing himself. They couldn't possibly know he was here. There was no way they could know. He had been extremely careful as he followed Nancy, almost losing sight of her a few times after they had turned off the main highway and taken the county road toward Grand Lake. There was no way she had known he was following her, even if the Impala was as easy to spot on the highway as Santa Claus's sleigh. Very few people used their rear-view mirrors the way they should and Dean doubted Nancy was an exception. And how many people actually paid attention to the cars that were driving behind them?

No, they didn't know he was here. They were only guessing. Because they knew he would show up sooner or later. Only they didn't know when. So they had set up this little melodrama to goad him into showing himself once he did arrive. Because they wanted to take away his biggest advantage, they wanted to eliminate the element of surprise. Only he wasn't going to play their little game. No matter what they threatened to do. Because they had no real intention of following through.

'_And there's no god, spirit, demon or devil – real or otherwise – that'll be able to save them if they do.'_

So Dean bided his time, continuing to watch them through the blinds without moving a muscle. For a few minutes no one on the deck moved either. Then Robin slowly wandered over to Sam, pushing Rick to the side as he stood close to Sam and spoke menacingly to him. Dean couldn't hear what he was saying but Robin's dissatisfaction was more than evident in his demeanor. As Dean watched despondently, Robin struck Sam one again in the stomach.

'_I hope you know payback is a real bitch, Leavey.'_

As Sam buckled forward, held firmly by Marty and Eric, Robin turned and trudged to the end of the deck. He took another extensive look around the yard, before he slammed his fist into the railing and spun around to face Sam once again.

"**_Where the fuck is your brother?_**" he screamed at Sam.

But Sam just gritted his teeth and stared back at him defiantly. "He's not coming. You've wasted your time, you bunch of assholes!"

"Shut the fuck up," warned Rick as he stepped close to Sam and whacked him across the face.

'_That little bastard is so fucking gonna pay for that.'_

"**This is your last chance Winchester**," yelled Robin across the yard. "**If you don't show now, your little brother has had it!**"

Dean closed his eyes and swore, _'I'm sorry, Sammy, but I **will** get them for everything they've done to you. You just have to hold on a little bit longer.'_

Still, Dean didn't budge. There was no way he was going to play this game. Not on Robin's terms. It had to be a scam. Robin wasn't that stupid. He had to know that the more he hurt Sam, the more livid Dean would be. And the more livid Dean was, the thinner the ice got underneath Robin's feet.

And he had to know that Dean was going to hold him personally responsible for every little thing that happened to Sam. After all, he'd already warned him. He'd told him that he would go completely off the deep end if anything happened to his little brother. So there'd be no more hiding behind Andy or anyone else for that matter. He'd have to deal directly with Dean; something he'd managed to avoid up until now.

But now, he couldn't escape. Because with every punch, jab or similar injustice they aimed at his brother, more of Dean's self-control slipped away and disappeared forever. And, if they kept it up, he'd have no mercy left in his soul. Because nobody got away with hurting Sammy. Nobody.

When no result came from his ultimatum, Robin ordered Marty and Eric to take Sam back inside. Dean watched as Rick marched over to Robin and started arguing with him. Robin responded to his brother's contentions by pushing him toward the house, and proclaiming loudly, "**You'll get your chance later!**"

After everyone else went back inside, Robin stood on the deck for a few minutes, breathing heavily. Dean was ready to go after him right then but, as he put his hand on the door handle to open it, Andy stepped onto the deck.

'_Bingo.' _

Now that he had the opportunity to ambush both Robin and Andy simultaneously, Dean just wanted to rush out there and attack them. But first he had to make sure that none of the other boys would be close enough to come to their aid until after he'd dealt with them. And he had to be sure that they'd taken Sammy somewhere far enough away from the back deck that they wouldn't be able to use him as leverage to divert him from his mission.

Dean strained to listen for any sounds coming from inside the house. He heard voices in the hallway but he couldn't make out who was talking or what was being said. The closed door muffled most of the conversation until he heard Sam state boldly, "Dean won't fall for this! He'll figure out what you're up to and he won't come."

Someone just outside the door replied, "Oh, he'll come all right. He's not gonna let anything happen to you."

"He doesn't even know where I am!" countered Sam hotheadedly.

"He's smart. He'll figure it out," the same person shot back angrily. "And until he gets here, you're waitin' upstairs. Where he can't get to you without going through us. Now, MOVE!"

Dean heard the undeniable sound of footsteps tramping up the stairs and he listened intently to determine exactly how many people were following his brother upstairs. He was pretty sure that he could make out four sets of footsteps but the sounds were so intermingled that it may only have been three. Either way, the odds were still in his favor; either all the other guys had accompanied Sam upstairs or only one of them had remained downstairs. And he was probably entertaining the girls.

So it was probably still two against one – Andy and Robin verses him. At worst it might be Andy, Robin and one other guy against him. That wasn't too bad. He could live with that, if that's how it turned out. Hell…the odds had probably been a lot worse last night when he'd faced off against the Aswang. And he'd survived that one.

Now all he had to do was lure Robin and Andy away from the house. He'd come back for Sammy after he'd deposed of the Grand Pooba and Barney Rubble.

Dean looked outside one more time; Robin and Andy were sitting in a couple of the chairs on the deck, engrossed in a conversation. They were probably plotting their revenge. The lights over the deck were still on, casting a dim glow over the entire back wall of the house. Dean knew that if he exited through the patio door, they would see him coming before he even got all the way out. He had to find another way out of the house.

Dean crossed the room and opened the door just enough to see into the hall. No one was around so he opened the door a bit more and glanced out into the hallway. The stairway was located directly in front of the bedroom; no wonder he'd heard them so clearly as they'd taken Sammy upstairs. The hallway continued off to the left and Dean could see a darkened room just past the staircase. Probably a bathroom.

With one more swift glance around the hallway, Dean left the bedroom and crept softly toward the darkened room. He entered the room unnoticed and silently closed the door behind him. Sure enough, he found himself in a small bathroom and, as he surveyed the room, he noticed a small window that was located on the side wall of the house.

'_Perfect.'_

It was just big enough for him to crawl through so he cautiously removed the screen, opened the window and glanced along the exterior wall, looking for any sign of a motion detector. But he didn't see anything so he carefully climbed through the window, jumped to the ground, and noiselessly walked to the back corner of the house. He looked around the side of the house and was pleased to see Robin and Andy still sitting on the deck.

Now he just had to get their attention.

He stepped away from the house and into the dim luminescence that the patio lights cast across the backyard.

"Hi Guys. Fancy meetin' you here."

Robin and Andy looked up. In a flash they were both on their feet, running down the deck toward him. But Dean had disappeared around the side of the house.

Robin and Andy ran to the corner of the house. They stopped and stared into the side yard. No one was there. They couldn't see him anywhere. He must have run to the front of the house. Robin hit Andy on the shoulder and told him to go back around the house and approach from the other side so they could cut him off from either direction.

Andy spun around and raced through the backyard, following Robin's instructions without question. Robin slowly inched along the side of the house, keeping a vigilant lookout for Dean. But nothing moved in the darkness and the night was quiet. As his apprehension diminished, Robin's confidence returned and he sprinted toward the front of the house, believing that to be where Dean had run.

But as Robin passed a medium-sized lilac bush, Dean emerged from the shadows and stood directly in front of him with a wicked smirk spread on his face.

"Hey Leavey. 'Bout fucking time you came out to play."

Robin took a couple of steps backward. This hadn't been the plan. Dean wasn't supposed to catch them off guard. And he certainly wasn't supposed to corner him all alone outside the house.

"What's the matter, Leavey? Don't tell me you weren't expecting me?" taunted Dean menacingly as he steadily advanced toward him. "Because you look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Go fuck yourself, Winchester," responded Robin defiantly as he retreating slowly, looking for a way to escape. But it was more than obvious that his defiance was only an act. He was scared shitless.

"No," retorted Dean. "Fuckin' myself is all that much fun. But I'll tell you what would be fun." He paused to let the stark reality of the situation sink in as he continued his unwavering progression toward Robin. "Tearing you apart…piece…by piece. Now…_that_ would be fun."

Robin turned to run but Dean grabbed ahold of his shirt collar. Dean rotated him around and shoved him against the house. He thrust his forearm into Robin's neck, effectively pinning him in place.

Dean loomed dangerously close to Robin's face as he spoke through gritted teeth. "This," he said as he slammed his fist into Robin's torso, "Is for thinking you could use Sam to get back at me."

The force of the blow caused Robin to lurch forward, but he was held in place by Dean's arm.

"And this," added Dean, striking Robin violently in the ribcage, "Is for forgetting to tell your brother to back off."

Robin contorted sideways as a result of the blows to his body. Dean lifted his arm and let him fall to the ground. Robin attempted to scramble away, but Dean buried his foot in the small of his back. As he ground his foot heavily into Robin's back, he menaced, "Get up you little weasel. I'm not done with you yet."

But Robin only tried harder to scramble away. Dean placed his foot on Robin's side and pushed him over. As Robin lay face-up on the ground, Dean straddled him. He seized his shirt collar once again and yanked him off the ground. Robin grabbed hold of Dean's wrists as he stood precariously in front of him on wobbly feet.

Dean pulled him closer and spat angrily in his face, "What's the matter, Leavey? Too scared to fight back?"

Robin's eyes were bulging and his carotid artery pulsed rapidly in his neck. Dean almost felt sorry for him. It just wasn't right to beat up someone who couldn't – or wouldn't - defend himself. And Robin had shown his true colors – yellow. Lily-livered yellow. All the way through. It was almost enough to make Dean back down.

Except for one thing. His little army of thugs that was just waiting to do his bidding. And that little army was holding Sammy hostage. So Dean shoved his empathy for Robin into the deepest pocket of his soul, where, hopefully, it would get lost amongst all the other terrible secrets he kept hidden there.

Dean heard a noise behind him. He spun around just in time to see Andy lunge forward to tackle him. Dean jerked sideways, pulling Robin over with him. Andy flew past them, almost slamming into the house. He quickly regained his footing and once again advanced toward Dean. Dean twisted Robin around and secured him in a headlock. Then he cautiously walked backwards to lure Andy out of the shadows. As he walked further into the yard, Dean was careful to keep Robin positioned directly between himself and Andy.

The arrival of his best friend bolstered Robin's confidence. He seized Dean's arm with both hands, locked his legs in place and quickly leaned forward, trying to throw Dean over his shoulder.

Only this tactic had been tried on Dean a million times before and he immediately recognized what Robin was doing. He released his hold on Robin's neck, causing Robin to lurch downward. Dean planted his knee in the middle of Robin's ass and pushed him towards Andy. He landed in an unceremonious heap at Andy's feet.

Dean took a few more steps backward and readied himself for the inevitable attack. But he just couldn't resist further antagonizing Andy.

"Nice of you to join us, Warner."

Andy dashed around Robin and threw himself at Dean. Dean easily stepped out of the way, grabbing Andy's arm as he dove past. Andy jerked to a halt and turned toward Dean, only to find himself on the receiving end of a powerful uppercut to his jaw. Andy reeled backwards and, from the corner of his eye, Dean saw Robin coming up behind him. He quickly threw his elbow backwards, whacking Robin squarely in the chest. Without turning around, he hooked his leg around Robin's and knocked him to the ground.

Andy was once again progressing toward him, his fists raised to shoulder level. He lashed out with his right hand, aiming at Dean's head. Dean blocked the punch with his left arm, swinging it upwards and knocking Andy's arm out of the way. The movement exposed Andy's face and Dean carried through with a right hook, delivering a commanding blow to his opponent's cheek.

Andy's head jerked violently sideways. But he didn't lose his focus. He swung his right fist again, barely missing Dean's head. Dean countered with a swift left jab aimed at the side of Andy's head. Andy lurched backwards and Dean's punch only connected with thin air.

Having missed his target,the momentum of his body lunging sideways pushed him off-balance.Dean suddenly felt his head begin to spin. Everything became blurry. He shook his head and blinked. But he couldn't clear his head. He squinted his eyes, trying to maintain a proper fix on his adversaries. But he could feel his body weakening. His arms became too heavy to hold up. His legs felt like dead weights, anchoring him to the ground.

As the realization of what was happening dawned on him, Dean felt a sharp blow hit him sharply in the temple. He crumbled to the ground and succumbed to the darkness.


	31. Chapter 31

He wasn't sure exactly what it was that roused him to consciousness; it could have been the sudden unbearable pain shooting up his side, or the horrified female voice screaming "STOP IT!" But more than likely it was Sammy's agonized cry of "LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE!" that woke him. Because that would do it every time.

All it took was one tinny little peep out of Sammy and he was instantly awake. It had been like that since he was four, after their mother died. And it was still like that thirteen years later. All Sammy had to do was sigh, sniffle, whimper or moan and he'd be up and at his side in a flash.

Guess it worked when Sammy was pissed off too.

Although, he had to admit that he usually woke up feeling a lot better than he did now. And it had nothing to do with the fact that someone had just kicked him in the ribcage, because, based on the throbbing in his side, he was positive that was what had just happened. But the pain coming from his side wasn't the problem. He felt groggy and confused; his ears were ringing and he felt like he was going to be sick.

And he hadn't even opened his eyes yet.

Because something told him he shouldn't. Instinct warned him not to move a muscle; that he would be safer that way. At least until he figured out where he was and what was going on.

So Dean lay motionless with his eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply. In order to make them believe he was still unconscious. He didn't want to give himself away until he could remember what had happened.

So he concentrated on assessing his situation until his memory kicked in…

Wherever he was, there was light: either daytime or he was inside.

There wasn't any breeze: must be inside.

He was lying on something cold and hard: possibly a wood floor.

He could sense a bunch of people hanging around: obviously not friends if the kick in the ribs was any indication.

And his head hurt like hell.

'_So…where the fuck am I? And how did I end up like this?'_

Then it slowly started coming back to him:

Going to get Sammy at school…

He wasn't there…

Talking to Jake…

Following Nancy to Grand Lake…

Breaking into the house…

Breaking outta the house…

Beating the crap outta Robin - the little chicken-shit.

Andy…

He hadn't been a problem…

Until…

'_Aww, fuck! The poison from that goddamn Aswang!'_

No wonder he'd passed out. There was still poison in his system. And Dad had warned him about that too: _It'll probably affect you for the next few days. Especially if you overexert yourself. So try to take it easy and don't do anything stupid. D'hear me?..._

…'_Yeah…I heard ya. Didn't pay any attention…but I heard ya.'_

Now all he had to do was figure a way out of this mess. Shouldn't be too hard. Even if there were five guys waiting to beat the shit outta him the minute they knew he was awake. That just meant that he'd have to think a bit harder to determine what he was going to do. Besides, he'd gotten outta tougher jams than this. Against tougher adversaries too.

The good thing was that no one had kicked him again, which, probably meant that they thought he was still out cold. Now all he had to do was make sure it stayed that way until they got tired of waiting around for him to wake up and they went somewhere else. Then he'd be able finish what he'd started.

Before he got Sammy the hell outta here.

Just then, Dean felt another agonizing blow to his side. This time he was positive that he had been kicked. He had to clench his teeth tightly to keep from screaming out from the pain or otherwise reacting to the pain. And it didn't take long for him to realize that at least one of the stitches had ripped open as he felt the unmistakable sensation of blood oozing down his back

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" yelled Sam furiously. "**_He wasn't even able to defend himself!_**"

"Shut-up," replied Andy insolently, before he addressed Robin. "Want me to try again? See if I can wake him up this time?"

"No, it's no use," stated Robin, sounding extremely displeased. "He's still out cold. No sense beating him up when he doesn't even know it's happening. We'll wait until he comes to." He addressed Rick as he nodded toward Sam, "Get him outta here. Take him to the next room. I don't want him hangin' around his brother anymore."

Dean could hear a slight scuffle ensue as someone ushered Sammy out of the room, but thankfully Sammy didn't protest too hard and end up causing himself more problems. One of them in this kind of predicament was enough.

"What are we gonna do with him?" came another male voice that Dean believed was Marty.

"Just leave him where he is," answered Robin. "He'll have to wake up sooner or later."

"OHMIGOD!" shrieked Nancy suddenly, pointing in Dean's direction.

Everyone in the room looked where she was pointing and saw blood seeping onto the floor all around Dean. At first no one moved as they watched the pool of blood spread slowly over the floor.

Nancy raced over to Dean and knelt beside him. She glared at Robin as she asked angrily, "What did you do to him?"

She lifted his shirt to see if she could determine why he was bleeding. As she stared at the discolored stitches that covered his back, her eyes widened and she let out a horrified gasp.

"What the fuck…?" questioned Robin as he stood over Nancy and stared down at Dean's prone form. Then he hastily turned to Andy and said, "Get her outta here!"

"What are you going to do to him?" asked Nancy again, alarm evident in her voice.

"Nothing you need to worry about," shot back Robin angrily before he impatiently addressed Andy, "I told you to get her outta here!"

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what you're going to do to him," replied Nancy firmly.

"Why?" asked Robin bitterly. "You still hoping he'll ask you to the prom?"

"Don't be such an ass," responded Nancy indignantly. "I just want you to tell me what you're going to do to him."

Robin didn't respond but instead glanced at Andy, raising his eyebrows to implore why he had yet to remove Nancy. Without another word, Andy grasped Nancy's shoulders and started to steer her out of the room.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" shouted Nancy as she tried to wiggle free from his grasp. But Andy wouldn't release her and she found herself being dragged into the hallway. Dean could hear Nancy protesting as Andy guided her down the stairs.

"Fuck!" exclaimed Robin irately. "There's blood all over the floor!" He turned to Marty and said, "Keep a close eye on him. Even if he is hurt, I still don't trust him. I'll be right back with something to clean up this mess. And whatever you do, _don't_ let him out of your sight." And with that he stormed out of the room.

Dean realized that he was probably alone with Marty. Sammy had been escorted from the room – probably by Rick; Andy had taken Nancy downstairs and Robin had just left. The only other person unaccounted for was Eric and he was most likely still downstairs with the other girls.

Dean carefully opened one eye in order to ascertain exactly who his opponents might be. As he surveyed the room as much as his limited vision allowed without actually moving his head, he felt his shirt being lifted from behind and heard Marty's quiet exclamation of "Jeez" come from behind him. When his comment was met with silence, Dean deduced that it must be just the two of them in the room.

This was probably the best chance he was going to get.

Dean reached up, grabbed Marty's forearm and yanked Marty overtop of him. Marty had been caught completely off-guard and he tumbled to the floor in front of Dean. As he landed roughly on his hands and knees, Dean vaulted to his feet. In one swift, smooth movement, he wrenched Marty's arm backwards before jerking it violently upward, and causing Marty to spin around and fall flat on his back.

Before he had a chance to recover, Dean was on top of him. He knelt heavily on Marty's chest and quickly covered his mouth with his left hand. Without hesitation, Dean struck him in the jaw with a powerful right hook, knocking Marty out cold. Dean hurriedly dragged Marty into the corner so Robin wouldn't see him when he opened the door.

Dean stood up and he immediately felt the dizziness return. He rested both hands on his knees and momentarily closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths to try to steady himself but he knew he didn't have a lot of time. Robin should be returning at any minute.

Dean felt weak and both mentally and physically exhausted. He knew his strength was being drained by more than just the Aswang's poison. Dean wiped his hand across his back and was surprised at the amount of blood that came back with it. He realized that, if the bleeding didn't stop soon, loss of blood would his biggest worry; even more so than Robin or Andy. If he wasn't careful, he was likely to pass out again but it was already too late to do anything about it because he could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Dean took one last deep breath before he carefully straightened himself up and was relieved to discover that much of the vertigo had subsided.

At least for right now.

He positioned himself behind the door and waited. He watched the doorknob turn and the door open. As soon as Robin began to walk through the doorway, Dean seized his arm and spun him completely around the door. Dean kicked the door shut while he flung his foe into the wall face first. Now that he had him pinned tightly to the wall, Dean pushed his forearm into his back to further immobilize him. Dean took a step closer and was surprised at what he saw.

Andy.

He had been expecting Robin. And knowing that Robin was by far a weaker rival than Andy, he had only prepared himself mentally to take on Robin. Not that he couldn't adjust. Hell, he'd been doing that all his life.

But it was a bit harder to do when he had poison cursing through his veins – and blood steadily flowing out of them. Still, he had ambushed Andy and currently had him pinned tightly to the wall. Maintaining control shouldn't be too much of a problem as long as he could keep the dizziness at bay.

Andy struggled violently and tried to push himself off the wall with his hands. But Dean leaned into him, keeping him firmly nailed to the wall. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of Andy's hair. Pulling forcefully on his hair, Dean wrenched his head backwards. Andy bellowed, "You Bastard!" before Dean was able to slam his head vehemently forward into the wall. The blow knocked Andy unconscious and Dean slowly eased him to the floor.

So much for the tough guy.

Dean knew that Andy's cry would have alerted Robin to the fact that something was amiss. But he wouldn't be expecting his bodyguard to be out cold so soon and would probably come running in expecting to see Dean on the receiving end of a severe beating.

Can't be right all the time.

Dean boosted himself off the floor, only to find himself extremely lightheaded. His legs were wobbly and he had to lean against the wall for support. As he tired to steady himself, Dean was glad that he had already disposed of Andy. Now he just had to hold it together long enough to deal with Robin and Eric.

Not that Robin was much of a problem. He could probably scare the shit outta him just by looking at him. But he did seem to gain a little bit of confidence whenever a member of his entourage was around. But, from what little Dean knew about Eric, he wasn't overly worried about him either.

His biggest concern was Rick. Because Rick had Sammy. And Rick had a knife. And from what Dean had observed earlier, he seemed more than eager to use it. So Dean had to play his cards right to make sure that nothing happened to Sam.

He was still trying to clear his head and regain some of his strength when he noticed the door open. As he lay in wait behind the door, Eric walked hesitantly into the room with his arms spread wide, palms facing forward. Dean resisted the urge to pounce on him, knowing that, at the moment, he was in no shape to take on another opponent. And, based on Eric's demeanor, it didn't appear that he really wanted to tangle with him either.

Might as well save his strength until he really needed it.

"Robin wants you to join him in the kitchen," stated Eric.

"He does?" replied Dean, a hint of danger in his voice. "And why should I do that?"

"Because your brother's down there with him."

That was all it took for Dean's reluctance to fade. He pushed himself away from the wall and approached Eric menacingly.

His eyes were as cold and grey as steel as he stated, "Don't even think of trying anything or you'll end up just like your two friends over there," and he motioned to the immobile forms of Andy and Marty.

Eric gulped down a lump in his throat before he replied, "Hey, I got no beef with you. Robin just told me to come and get you, that's all."

Well then," responded Dean icily as he gestured toward the door, "After you."

Eric preceded Dean down the stairs and when he stepped onto the main floor, he tried to dash away. But Dean grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him back toward him.

Dean whispered dangerously in his ear, "Not so fast, Bennett. I'm a little shy, you know, and I hate walking into places all alone. So you're gonna stay right in front of me."

He didn't relinquish his hold on Eric's shirt as he steered him toward the kitchen. When they neared the kitchen, Dean saw Sammy sitting in a chair in the middle of the room with Rick standing behind him. One of Rick's hands was on Sammy's shoulder while the other one held the pocketknife steadily at his cheek. Dean pulled Eric to an abrupt halt and glanced around the kitchen looking for Robin. He found him sitting nonchalantly on the kitchen table swinging his legs.

"What the fuck are you planning to do now, Leavey?" asked Dean, choosing to cut directly to the chase.

"I think I'll let my little brother start carving your brother a new face," taunted Robin maliciously.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," threatened Dean as he advanced slowly into the kitchen, keeping a tight hold on Eric.

"And why not?" questioned Robin innocently.

"Because payback can be a real bitch," warned Dean.

"Is that so?" responded Robin. "Because I think I could say the same thing to you."

"And how's that?"

"Well, seems to me that you owe me some sort of retribution for taking my girlfriend out. And making me look like a fool in front of the whole school."

"You don't need my help with that," replied Dean wryly. "You do a great job all on your own. And, as far as Nancy goes, maybe if you weren't such an asshole, she wouldn't have been so eager to jump ship for the first guy who came along."

"Well, then I guess it's too bad for you that you were the first guy to come along," acknowledged Robin. "Or, I suppose it's really too bad for Sam. 'Cause he's the one who's gonna pay for his big brother's indiscretion."

Robin glanced at Rick and very slightly nodded his head. At his brother's signal, Rick swiftly grabbed Sam's hair, pulled his head back and, without hesitating, slashed the blade of the knife across Sammy's cheek. Sam winced against pain, but Rick held him still.

Dean grew more incensed as he watched the paper-thin cut fill with blood and slowly begin to trickle down Sammy's cheek. He had advanced close enough to Robin that, when he pushed Eric away from him, he fell against the table with enough force that it wobbled profoundly and knocked Robin from his perch.

As both boys struggled to regain their balance, Dean sprinted over to Rick and seized his wrist. He twisted Rick's arm sideways until he released the knife and it tumbled to the floor. In his efforts to maintain control of the knife, Rick had inadvertently let go of Sam's hair. Sam jumped up from the chair just as Robin lunged at Dean. Sam tried to prevent him from reaching his brother by stepping between them, but the momentum of Robin's leap combined with his added weight and height, simply knocked Sam out of the way.

Dean was still holding onto Rick as Robin launched himself onto Dean's back. Dean staggered forward, releasing Rick's arm as he tried to deal with the impact. After stumbling forward a few steps, Dean planted his legs firmly on the floor and reached up and over his shoulders. He latched onto Robin's arms at the same time as he rapidly bent forward, catapulting Robin onto the floor in front of him.

Dean, having supplanted Robin from his back, stood up only to be grabbed from behind by Eric. The physical exertion was beginning to take its toll on him and he was having more and more trouble retaining his focus. But his warrior instincts kicked in and he ducked just in time to avoid the wild punch that Eric had hurled at him. Having failed to connect with his target, Eric was thrown off-balance and Dean responded with a tenacious uppercut to his abdomen. Eric doubled-over from the force of the blow and Dean quickly grabbed the waistband of his jeans, tossing him on top of Robin.

Meanwhile, Rick was attempting to pick the pocketknife up off the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, Sam kicked it out of the way. Rick stood up, anger evident in his eyes. But his fury was matched equally by the rage manifested in Sam's expression. Rick swung at Sam but Sam avoided his punch by agilely stepping out of the way. Sam leaned onto his left leg, hoisted his right leg and planted an extremely strong kick right under Rick's ribcage.

The kick knocked the wind out of him, and Rick staggered backwards, stopping only when he crashed into the refrigerator. Sam advanced on him, his fists poised and ready. He may not have been the most exuberant fighter, but he was well-trained and proficient. Especially when he had to be. He jabbed out with his left hand, hitting Rick squarely in the jaw. The force of the impact reverberated up Sam's arm and into his wounded shoulder. He ignored the pain to the best of his ability, not wanting to reveal his weakness to his nemesis. But his shoulder had not completely healed and Sam knew that he was in danger of dislocating it again if he kept fighting.

Sam's aggressive attack caught Rick by surprise. He hadn't seriously considered that Sam would be able to fight. His compliant manner at school coupled with the ferocity of Dean's protectiveness had led him to believe that Sam would be an easy target. But now he found himself on the receiving end of a ferocious attack with Sam more than capable of defending himself.

Rick moved uneasily away from the fridge, trying to distance himself from Sam. But Sam matched his movements, staying with him but remaining just out of his reach. He wanted to exhaust Rick by taunting and outmaneuvering him, knowing that with an injured shoulder and a broken wrist, he was not physically capable of fighting him outright.

Rick glanced at his brother, now sprawled on the floor with Eric on top of him. Realizing that he wasn't going to get any help from Robin, Rick lunged at Sam, hoping to use his weight to pin him down. But, once again, Sam sidestepped him and as Rick landed against the counter, Sam lashed out with his leg, kicking him in the back of the knee. Rick's legs buckled and he found himself on his knees in front of the counter. He pulled himself up and turned to face Sam.

But Sam had had enough of both Rick and the fight. He was ready to end it once and for all. As Rick turned toward him, Sam swung out viciously with his right arm, cracking Rick squarely in the temple with his cast, shattering it on impact. Rick immediately crumbled to the floor where he was reduced to a motionless heap.

Sam spun around in time to see both Robin and Eric getting up from the floor. One quick look at his brother told him that something was wrong and he knew that Dean would need his help. He crossed the floor and stood beside Dean, ready to help him take on the other boys. Although Dean was addled and a bit shaky, one quick glance at Sam revealed the shattered cast and he recognized simply by looking at his brother's stance that his shoulder was hurting him again.

"Sam," stated Dean breathlessly, "You can't do this. Not while you're hurt"

"Neither can you," came the terse determined response.

Dean knew that his brother was right; right now he just couldn't take on both Robin and Eric, regardless of his fighting skills. He just didn't have the energy.

The commotion had brought the four girls from the living room, all of them wondering what was happening. They ran into the kitchen only to stop abruptly when they came upon the melee. They stared in shock at the scene if front of them.

Nancy noticed Rick lying on the kitchen floor and ran over to him. As she cradled his head in her lap, she shouted out, "STOP! JUST STOP ALREADY! THIS HAS GONE FAR ENOUGH!"

But the four remaining participants were too engrossed in what they were doing to acknowledge her. They circled each other menacingly and slowly made their way toward the kitchen table.

As they proceeded into the main eating area, Dean threw himself at Robin. He found that the longer he stood, the worse his vision got and he knew that he was only moments away from losing consciousness. Based on that perception, he decided that he would be better to overtake Robin than to attempt to fend him off.

As Dean lunged toward him, Robin jumped backwards. But he slipped on a small puddle of forgotten blood and slammed against the table. In an instant, Dean was on top of him, pulling him to the floor. While attempting to straddle his adversary, Dean's knee slid in another patch of blood and he ended up diagonally across Robin. Robin tried in vain to scramble out from under him but Dean's weight held him down. Realizing the futility of his efforts, Robin lambasted Dean across the side of his head with a left hook.

Had he been more of a skilled combatant, the punch probably would have knocked Dean out. But it only succeeded in further inciting his anger and, although he felt extremely lightheaded and his vision was blurry, Dean managed to pull himself up and swing his right leg overtop of Robin's body. Dean immediately let loose with a series of close-fisted volleys to Robin's head, only easing up when Nancy's anguished cry of "DEAN! STOP!" filtered slowly into his brain. Her distressed sob brought him back to reality and he looked down at his hapless victim; Robin was out-cold.

Dean looked over at Sam, who was still engaged in a tough battle with Eric. The older teen towered over Sam and his advantage in both size and weight spurred him on. Still, Sam was holding his own, carefully avoiding an all-out confrontation. Sam had managed to avoid slipping in any of the blood spots that covered the kitchen floor. They had jabbed and poked at each other with Sam mostly defending himself until he found an opportunity to land either an unanswered punch or thrust a powerful kick at Eric. They had jostled themselves around the large room and, just as Dean ended his assault on Robin, Sam tripped over Rick's prone body.

Eric moved in and snagged Sam by the shirt. But Dean shot straight for them as soon as he saw his brother fall. He grabbed Eric around the neck and pulled him away from Sam before the dizziness caused him to stagger backwards and he rammed into the stove. Dean increased the pressure on Eric's neck as he struggled to remain conscious.

"Either quit now and go comfort your girlfriend," threatened Dean with an air of confidence he didn't quite feel, "Or I'll snap your neck in half."

Thankfully Eric raised his hands and willfully surrendered, not wanting to challenge Dean and his brother any longer. Sam had gotten to his feet and stood directly in front of Eric, poised to take him on if he ignored his brother's ultimatum. But, as Dean hesitantly released his hold on him, Eric was more than happy to sprint away and join the girls who, with the exception of Nancy, were still standing in the doorway.

His energy spent, Dean listlessly sunk to the floor, his eyes closed. Sam quickly breached the distance between them and knelt beside his brother.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"Yeah," answered Dean unenthusiastically. "I'll be okay. But we gotta get outta here."

Heather had wandered cautiously over to them and stated, "You can't go anywhere like that."

"Dean opened his eyes and looked at her. He tried to smile as he said, "Well, I'm not stayin' for Round 2, that's for sure."

Heather had insisted that Dean let her check out his injuries before he leave because there was still blood dripping from his back. With Nancy's help, they found some gauze bandages and used them to cover the open stitches on Dean's back. When they had finished, Dean stood up with Sam's help and together they departed the house, leaving the girls to tend to the other boys and clean up the mess.

When they arrived at the Impala, Dean slid slowly into the driver's seat. He leaned back in the seat as Sam walked around the car and opened the passenger door.

As he got in, Sam glanced at his brother and asked, "You gonna be okay to drive?"

"Don't have much choice," responded Dean as he sat up in the seat and started the car. "I'm sure as hell not waiting around here until I feel better."

"Maybe I could drive," suggested Sam.

"Drive my car? Without a license? In the middle of nowhere? I don't think so," replied Dean incredulously as he drove onto the road.

"It was just a suggestion," came the irritated response from Sam. "It's not like you haven't let me drive before."

"Yeah, well, that was in the daylight," countered Dean, "And you didn't have a broken wrist or any injured shoulder."

"At least I'm not in any danger of passing out."

Dean glanced at Sam and stated firmly, "I'll be fine."

"Sure you will," mumbled Sam as he stared out the side window.

They drove down the county road in complete silence, both of them too battle-weary to speak.

But as Dean turned the Impala onto the highway, he suddenly broke the silence.

"Ahh…Sammy?"

"What?" replied Sam gruffly.

"I think maybe you shoulda driven," uttered Dean before he slumped forward, his body pressed into the steering wheel.


	32. Chapter 32

As Sam grabbed the steering wheel, a sharp agonizing pain immediately shot through his left arm and across his shoulder. He tried to ignore the pain as he attempted to rotate the steering wheel toward him. But, with the unyielding pain in his left shoulder and the cast in shreds around his right wrist, he had little strength to counteract the effect of Dean's dead-weight leaning against the steering wheel. Sam struggled to gain control of the car, but it veered onto the shoulder and careened into the ditch. The Impala lurched to a halt as it collided with the embankment, smacking Sam heavily into the dash. His head slammed against the windshield, causing it to crack before Sam was unceremoniously tossed back into the seat, smashing his left shoulder as he landed against it. The sudden jolt caused his shoulder to pop out of place and he grimaced against the pain of having dislocated it once again.

As he fought back tears, Sam used his feeble right hand to throw the car into park and to turn off the engine. They wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. As he settled back into his seat, he glanced over at his brother. Dean was still wedged tightly against the steering wheel and Sam could tell he had also hit his head against the window when they crashed. But he was still breathing so at least he was okay.

Well...okay enough for a guy who had passed out from losing too much blood. And for someone who had been poisoned. And just been in a car crash.

"Dean?" called Sam hesitantly. When his brother didn't respond, Sam quietly ventured once more, "Dean?" But even he knew it was more wishful thinking than anything.

Because Dean was out cold. And Sam knew he was alone. He didn't know what to do. It was Dean who always figured out what to do when things went wrong, and Dean who always came to his rescue when he needed help. But as Sam stared at his comatose brother, he knew that Dean wasn't going to be able to help them get out of this mess any time soon. He was going to have to figure this one all by himself. All he really wanted to do was succumb to the tears that kept threatening to fall. Both his wrist and shoulder hurt like hell. His left arm was pretty much useless now and, without the support of the cast, his fractured right hand wasn't much better.

And now he had a headache.

Sam blinked away the tears and took a deep breath; he had to get a hold of himself. Crying like a baby wasn't going to help. He had to pull himself together. So Sam tried to think how Dean would handle this. What would he do? Sam knew for certain that Dean wouldn't be sitting here wallowing in self-pity. He'd no doubt be downplaying his own injuries trying, instead, to put Sam at ease by cracking some stupid joke that wasn't even really that funny. And Sam would probably roll his eyes at him and tell him to shut up.

But now, Sam really wished that Dean would just turn toward him and say something really stupid and unfunny. Or at least tell him everything was going to be okay. But he knew that neither of those was likely to happen and Dean wasn't going to say anything to make him feel better. Nobody was. He'd have to do this all on his own.

So how was he going to get them out of this mess?

Then Sam remembered Dean's cell phone; he always carried it with him. All Sam had to do was find it. But before he'd be able to search for it, Sam knew he had to find something to secure the cast on his wrist. If he could find something to wrap the cast in, he'd at least be able to use his right hand. Then, maybe he'd be able to work on getting them some help.

He scanned the interior of the car. As he glanced behind the driver's seat his eyes fell on a discarded t-shirt lying on the floor. He sat forward in the seat and reached carefully around with his right hand to grab the shirt. Once he had it in his hand, he gingerly sat back in his seat, trying not to aggravate his shoulder any more than he had to. Sam gripped the collar of the shirt between his fingers and clenched the other end between his teeth. Then he extended his arm, pulling the t-shirt taut. Sam slowly wound the shirt around the cast stopping when he had raised his arm parallel to his mouth. He grabbed the shirt from his mouth, taking care to keep the t-shirt pulled as tight as possible and lowered his arm to his lap so that he could tuck the shirt into the cast with his left hand.

Having adhered the cast to his wrist as effectively as he could, Sam set about looking for the cell phone. He didn't think that Dean had taken the cell phone with him when he had snuck into the Leavey residence, which meant that he had to have stored it somewhere in the car. Sam reached over and tried to open the glove compartment, only to discover that it was locked. So he twisted in his seat yet again in order to remove the keys from the ignition. He fumbled with them until he found the key to the glove box and he was able to successfully open it. Looking inside, he saw the cell phone. As he pulled it out of the compartment, he prayed that it would still work way out here. Sam turned it on and was overjoyed to hear the familiar beep that indicated that there was reception. He immediately dialed his father's cell phone number.

John had been going frantic ever since Dean hadn't returned with Sammy over four hours ago. He knew that he should have gone to get Sammy himself; there was just too much going on in this crazy town that he didn't understand. It seemed that Dean was constantly getting into some kind of trouble this week and his conscience had warned him against letting Dean out of his sight. But he had ignored it because he really didn't think that Dean would be reckless enough to involve Sammy in whatever he was planning.

Because John knew that Dean would exact his revenge against anyone he thought had wronged him - or Sammy. He just wasn't one to let things slide - he never had been. And John realized that was he probably shouldered most of the blame for that because ever since Mary had been killed, most of their lives had been dictated by vengeance. And Dean had accepted his father's philosophy, swallowing it hook, line and sinker for the past thirteen years. But he had never before gotten Sammy mixed up in it. And Sammy hadn't quite taken to it the same way as Dean had. So John doubted that his youngest son would have been an eager participant in whatever scheme Dean had cooked up.

John had tried calling Dean's cell phone numerous times, only to be told that "_the customer you are calling is not available_" each time. Not that he had really expected anything different; Dean wouldn't have left his phone on if he knew that his father wouldn't approve of what he was doing. Or if he didn't want to have to explain himself. Besides, if the phone was turned off, Dean wouldn't even know anyone had called until he after turned it back on. And John knew that was unlikely to happen until after he returned to the motel.

John had given them just over two hours to come home before he had gotten in his truck and driven around town looking for them. It wasn't that big a town and the Impala should have been easy to spot, but John hadn't found them anywhere; they just seemed to have vanished completely. He had stopped short of going to the sheriff's station to report them missing, instead choosing to return to the motel and hope that they'd turn up sooner or later.

And when they did, he was going to kill his oldest son.

As the hours passed, John became increasingly troubled. He called the hospital to see if there had been any unidentified accident victims or otherwise unknown patients brought in but the answer to all his questions had been negative. He had been actively considering calling the sheriff's office, when his cell phone rang.

"John Winchester," he answered anxiously.

"Dad?" came a small, frightened voice from the other end.

"Sam! Where are you?"

"I'm with Dean. But he's hurt."

"Hurt? What do you mean he's hurt?" implored John, panic-stricken

"He's unconscious," responded Sam timidly. He knew his father was going to be furious and he wasn't sure exactly what he should tell him.

"Unconscious?" bellowed John. "What the hell happened?"

"Dean passed out and the car crashed."

"The car crashed?" reiterated John in disbelief. "Where?"

"On the highway heading back from Grand Lake."

"What the hell are you doing out there?" asked John, more confused than ever.

"Dean came to get me," offered Sam, "Only we had a bit of a problem."

"What kind of a problem?" asked John, completely perplexed.

"With Rick and his brother," stated Sam hesitantly.

"Are you okay?" asked John, now utterly mystified.

"I think I dislocated my shoulder when the car crashed. And I smashed my cast earlier tonight. But, other than that, I'm all right."

"Was there anyone else involved in the accident?" asked John. "Do I need to call the police? Or an ambulance?"

"No, it was just us," stated Sam. "The car just went off the road after Dean passed out. It kinda crashed into the ditch."

"Kinda?" questioned John irritably. "What the hell do you mean by 'kinda'?"

Sam was on the verge of tears again and his voice was shaky as he tried to explain, "We crashed into the ditch, Dad. The car's gonna need to be towed out." His voice cracked as he added, "And Dean won't wake up. I don't know what to do."

"Okay, Sam," breathed John trying to reign in his emotions so he could console his son. As he picked up his car keys and headed out to his truck he said, "I'm on my way, but you have to tell me exactly where you are."

"We were just turning onto the highway from the road that leads into Grand Lake. You'll see the car in the ditch just before you get here."

John hadn't been able to make head nor tails out of what had happened based on the disjointed information he had managed to extract from his youngest son. He just knew that he had to get out there quickly. He tried to keep his voice steady as he asked quietly "Sam, are you going to be okay until I get there?"

"Yeah," replied Sam. "But…Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could hurry?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John had driven like a man possessed until he reached the accident scene. When he arrived, he found Sam sitting on the grass beside the car. As he exited the truck, Sam rose unsteadily to his feet. John could tell by looking at him that he was in a tremendous amount of pain and he dashed over to intercept his youngest son as he made his way toward the truck.

"Sam," he queried when he reached him, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," replied Sam. "But you better check on Dean. He hasn't moved since the accident."

John glanced quickly at the Impala before he turned back to Sam. "But you've checked on him? He's breathing?"

"Yeah, he's breathing. But I didn't want to touch him. I didn't know what else I should do."

"It's okay Sam," confirmed John. "You did good." As he guided him toward the truck, John said, "Let's get you into the truck first. Then I'll go check on your brother."

"But Dad," argued Sam, "Dean really needs help."

"I know he does," stated John, soothingly. "But so do you. And, as long as he's breathing, then he'll be okay for another few minutes while I get you settled. Then I'll go see what I can do for Dean. Okay?"

Sam nodded reluctantly as he let his father take him to the truck. Before John helped him into the cab, he made a makeshift sling out of some old bandages he had in the first-aid kit and secured Sam's arm to alleviate the strain on his shoulder. Then he covered him gently with an emergency blanket to keep him warm and help ward off any chills that might surface when shock finally set in. After he had finished, John cautioned Sam against the pitfalls of falling asleep after sustaining a head injury before he grabbed a flashlight and headed over to the disabled Impala.

Thankfully, the incline into the ditch wasn't very steep and the car had simply plowed down the hill and stopped as it bulldozed into the embankment on the other side. The nose of the car was embedded in the dirt and, at quick glance, it didn't appear that there was too much damage to the car. But John wasn't at all concerned about that now; he had to find out what kind of shape his oldest son was in. The Impala was still sitting on all four wheels, so John was able to open the door and climb into it without too much difficulty.

He entered through the passenger door and immediately checked Dean's pulse. It was amazingly strong considering the amount of trauma that was evident on his body. Satisfied that Dean was stable at the moment, John checked out the rest of his injuries. He aimed the flashlight at his son and was taken aback by the amount of blood visible on the back of his shirt. What had he done to himself now? John cautiously rolled Dean's shirt up to reveal three seemingly fresh gauze pads completely soaked with blood. If his memory served him correctly, John was positive that each pad covered a claw mark made by the Aswang. And he had stitched most of them up twice already. As he stared at his son's back, John could see the telltale signs of bruising beginning to emerge on his side. Based on the size and shape of the marks, John was pretty sure that they had been made by a shoe or a boot - no doubt when someone had kicked him. And that would definitely be sufficient to open up at least a couple of the wounds.

John shook his head slowly and wondered how Dean could have ended up getting kicked in the torso. He was a proficient fighter and didn't usually end up on the losing side of too many battles with other teenagers. Unless, of course, he had been fighting against more than one opponent. Which was, of course, entirely possible. And it wouldn't be the first time either. Sometimes Dean just seemed to invite trouble.

Like they couldn't find enough of it in their line of work already.

Regardless, John knew instantly that Dean was in need of medical attention. There was no way he would be able to avoid it this time. By his own rough estimate, Dean had to have been unconscious for at least half an hour now and it was evident that he had lost an overwhelming amount of blood. And he would still be suffering from the after-effects of the Aswang poison too.

Obviously Dean had ignored his warning about overexerting himself.

John pulled out his cell phone and called for a tow truck. Seeing as there was no other car involved and the only damage was to the Impala, he just told the operator who answered the phone that he had lost control of the car and it had gone into the ditch. A friend was here to take him home so he would leave the keys under the front seat of the car. If they just towed the car to their compound, he would be there in the morning to pay the bill and claim the car.

After he hung up the phone, John ran back to the truck to check on Sam and let him know that he was going to put Dean in the truck and take them both to the hospital. He dashed back to the Impala and opened the driver's door, taking extra care to ensure that Dean didn't tumble out. Then he carefully lifted him out of the seat and cradled him in his arms in order to carry him back to the truck.

As he sped back to town, John tried to glean more information out of his youngest son as to what had transpired that evening.

"Sam," he began, "How did you and Dean end up way out here?"

"Well," conceded Sam hesitantly, "I came out with Rick and his brother. And Dean came out to get me."

John wasn't sure that he had heard Sam correctly, so he asked incredulously. "You came out here with Rick and his brother?"

"Yes Sir."

"Now…why would you do that?" asked John quizzically.

"Because Rick came up to me at my locker after school and told me that his brother and his friends had grabbed Dean at school and that if I didn't go with them, they'd really hurt him."

"And you believed him?"

"Well, at first I didn't. But when Dean didn't show up at the school, I figured he must be telling me the truth. And Robin was there when I went outside. He said he'd take me to Dean if I got in his car. So I did."

John didn't respond immediately; he didn't quite comprehend what had happened. Dean had left in plenty of time to get to Sam's school before it let out for the day. Why hadn't he been there when Sammy got out? Where the hell had he gone?

John wanted to ask Sam what he thought he was going to accomplish by going with them. Even if they had Dean, what was he going to do about it? And how would it help if both of them were captured by Rick and his buddies? But he refrained from following that train of thought; it wasn't really the issue right now. Sammy had gone with them because he thought he should. Now John had to find out what happened after that.

Instead, John decided to state the obvious and see if he was right. "But I gather they didn't really have Dean."

"No Sir," replied Sam timidly. Now that he could reflect on the events of the past few hours, he was beginning to feel rather foolish for having gone off with Rick and his brother, even though, at the time, it has seemed logical. "But I thought they did."

"Did you try calling him on his phone before you went with them?" asked John, trying his best to understand Sam's reasoning while pointing out that there may have been other options available to him.

"No Sir, I didn't," whispered Sam.

"Why not?"

"I guess I never thought about it," ventured Sam, who was by now more than a little embarrassed by his actions. "But Dean wasn't there and I was afraid of what they'd do to him."

"And it never occurred to you that they might be lying?" queried John in disbelief.

"No Sir," responded Sam warily. Hoping to explain his actions, he clarified, "It wasn't until we pulled away from the school that they told me it was a lie. They had been planning to ambush him after school but I guess Dean had been suspended from school earlier in the day so they had to change their plans. That's when they decided to trick me into thinking they had him so that he'd come looking for me."

"Okay…" replied John hesitantly. He was beginning to get some sort of a picture of what had happened - at least from Sam's perspective. "But how'd you end up way out here?"

"Rick's family has a vacation house on Grand Lake. That's where they took me."

"And how did Dean find you out here?"

"I dunno," shrugged Sam uncomfortably. "I didn't see him until one of Robin's friends carried him in unconscious a couple of hours after I got there."

"Carried him in unconscious?" reiterated John, dumbfounded.

"Yeah," replied Sam. "He dropped him on the floor and kicked him a couple of times, hoping to wake him up. Only he didn't wake up."

Well, at least that explained the bruises. And the open stitches.

"Then what happened?" asked John, unsure whether he really wanted to know.

"Dean was still unconscious when Robin made Rick take me out of the room. Then about 15 minutes later, some guy came up and told Rick to take me down to the kitchen. And that's when Dean showed up."

"Sam," warned John, now completely exasperated, "Do you think you can try to be a bit clearer with your explanations? Like…what exactly do you mean that '_that's when_ _Dean showed up_?'"

"He just came into the kitchen holding onto another one of Robin's friends. And then he and Robin started arguing."

"What were they arguing about?" asked John, not sure how this related to anything.

"Somethin' about Dean taking Robin's girlfriend out. And me having to pay for it," explained Sam.

John sighed. Why did it not surprise him that this had something to do with Dean and someone else's girlfriend? He rubbed his eyes, unsure what direction to take his questions in now.

But Sam continued before he had a chance to think. "That's when Rick slashed my cheek with his pocketknife."

John turned and stared wide-eyed at Sam. He had only vaguely noticed the cut on his cheek and assumed that it had occurred during the car accident. But now that he looked at it more closely, it was obvious that it had been an intentional incision. He blinked as he asked, "Rick slashed your cheek with a knife?"

"Uh huh," affirmed Sam. He spoke rapidly as he tried to recreate the scene in the Leavey's kitchen. "And that's when Dean lunged at Rick and got the knife out of his hand. But Rick's brother jumped him. And Rick was trying to pick up the knife so I kicked it out of the way. Then he and I ended up in a bit of a fight that ended when I smashed my cast into the side of his head and knocked him out. That's when I noticed that Dean was still fighting both Robin and the other guy so I went over to help him. He tackled Robin and I tried to fend off the other guy until Dean grabbed him and told him he'd break his neck if he didn't stop." Sam took a breath before he added, "Then Dean and I left."

John shook his head slowly. Why was getting a cohesive story out of Sammy like pulling teeth? Or trying to understand a Reader's Digest Condensed Story. It was always missing some crucial elements.

"So, you left the house and went back to the car?" asked John, hopefully.

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "And then Dean passed out while we were driving home."

John nodded but he refrained from asking any more questions. He'd wait to hear the rest of the story from Dean. And there was no way in hell he was going to weasel out of explaining it this time. Not after all the crap that had happened.

They had reached the outskirts of town and John turned his full attention back to the road. He drove quickly through town taking care not to alert the attention of law enforcement. All he wanted to do was get his sons to the hospital so they could get the medical attention they needed. Once they were being treated, he'd deal with the hospital personnel regarding any questions they had about the stitches on Dean's back - because he was sure there were going to be some. Especially seeing as they had obviously been made by claw marks. But from what? And then he'd have to explain why there were traces of poison in Dean's system. And then they'd want to know why he had driven his boys into the hospital without calling the sheriff to report the accident, which, of course, they'd be obligated to do.

He just needed a bit of time to figure out how he was going to explain everything without raising the suspicions of some well-meaning - but nosey - nurse. And, once the sheriff got involved, he'd know that it was more than just coincidence that the accident had happened out by Grand Lake and involved both his sons.

And somehow or another, John just knew that Greg Leavey was going to get involved.

This was turning into a wonderful night.


	33. Chapter 33

_A/N: First I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story - and especially those who reviewed the last few chapters. SorryI haven't gotten back to many of you and I really don't even have an excuse for not doing that!_

_Also sorry for how long this chapter has taken to post, but I had it almost completely written when my computer crashed and I was unable to recover it! That left me a little discouraged andI decided to work on some other stories for a while..._

_But here's the next chapter. I hope you like it!_

* * *

John drove into the emergency entrance at the hospital, threw the truck into park and ran around to the passenger side. He swung the door open and carefully grabbed hold of Dean, placing one arm behind his back and the other one underneath his knees in order to lift him out of the truck. As he gently pulled Dean toward him, he glanced over at Sam and could tell just by looking at him that his youngest son was going into shock. 

"SAMMY!" he snapped roughly, mostly to force him to focus on reality and not succumb to the shock caused by his injuries.

At the sound of his father's voice, Sam instantly jolted upright in his seat and fixed John with a vacant stare. The pallor of his skin and his dilated pupils told John that he had to get Sam into the hospital without delay; the longer he waited the more serious Sammy's condition was getting. But John had his arms full carrying Dean and he was still hoping that Sam would be able to make it into the building on his own.

"Sammy, we're here!" barked John forcefully as he secured Dean in his arms. "Get out of the truck!"

Sam instinctively followed his father's order but the glassy look in his eyes proved that he wasn't really aware of what was happening around him. John figured the best way to make sure that Sam made it safely into Emergency was to keep barking orders at him. If there was one good thing their unconventional lifestyle had done for the boys, it was teaching them to follow instructions without question. They both knew that, depending on their situation, their lives could very well depend on unfailing obedience and, for the most part, it had become as inherent as breathing for both of them.

John turned sideways so that his left shoulder was facing the interior of the truck. As Sam scooted toward him in the seat, John snapped, "Put your hand on my shoulder to keep yourself steady! Do you understand me?"

Sam's movements had a surreal quality to them, but his father's words found their way into his subconscious and he did as his father commanded. When he has stepped out of the truck, John carefully led him toward the hospital but each step he took was slow and uneven and John instantly recognized them as more symptoms of severe shock. He knew he had to get Sammy off his feet before he fell down and further injured himself.

"SAM!" quipped John sharply, hoping to jar his son to his senses again. "Stay with me, Bud! Keep walking one step at a time!"

Sam simply nodded and followed his father, keeping his injured right hand on John's shoulder. John struggled under the burden of assuming his oldest son's weight and trying to make sure that Sammy stayed with him. As he approached the entranceway, John noticed an empty wheelchair sitting just outside the hospital doors. He quickened his pace until he came up to the wheelchair and he used his foot to spin it around so that it was facing him. As it bumped against his leg, John ordered Sam to have a seat. Sam collapsed heavily into the wheelchair and John told him to wait there while he went to get someone to help him. Then he proceeded into the Emergency Department.

As he strode into the building carrying a still-unconscious Dean, John was met immediately by the triage nurse, who had called out for a stretcher as soon as she had observed him walking through the doors. Before he could provide any type of explanation about what had happened, two orderlies ran over with a stretcher and gently eased Dean onto it. Once Dean had been successfully transferred onto the stretcher, John turned to head back outside for Sam, but the nurse stopped him by placing her hand on his chest.

"Where are you going?" she asked with alarm.

John looked at her briefly before his attention was diverted to the two orderlies who were hurriedly whisking Dean through a set of double doors. He glanced back at the nurse and stated somewhat disjointedly, "My other son...He's still outside. I left him sitting in a wheelchair while I brought his brother inside. And he's gone in shock."

Obviously unaware that there was another person outside, the nurse immediately spun around and headed out the door. John was right on her heels as the two of them exited the building only to find Sam slouched forward in the wheelchair. The nurse immediately knelt down in front of him and checked his pulse. She glanced up at John and barked, "We need to get him inside, NOW!"

Without hesitation, John grabbed the wheelchair and dashed inside the building where he was once again met by various harried personnel. He was immediately nudged out of the way by a nurse who commandeered the wheelchair and pushed it into the unit where a couple of other nurses and Emergency personnel were waiting to provide medical assistance to Sam. As they wheeled him into the trauma section of the Emergency Department, another nurse directed John toward the admissions desk so he could provide them with all the required medical information.

John explained that he had been at home when he received a phone call from Sam saying that he and his brother had been in a car accident. He had driven out to the accident scene and because no one else was involved, he had not bothered to call for an ambulance, but had decided to drive them directly to the hospital himself.

He explained that Dean had been injured previously in a mishap at a friend's farm, when he had fallen against a piece of heavy farm machinery. John informed the nurse that he had stitched the wounds closed himself using the medical knowledge he had gained during his stint with the Marines.

"You do realize that he should have at least come in for a tetanus shot?" inquired the nurse disdainfully as she looked at him over the rim her glasses.

"He had one last year," countered John, more than a little aggravated. "And they're good for ten years." He just wasn't in any mood to deal with anyone who was going to question his unorthodox parenting skills.

"Still," added the nurse as she continued entering data into the computer, "We would have liked to check it out."

"Well, he's here now," stated John vehemently, "Feel free to check them out as much as you'd like."

The nurse stared crossly at John for a moment before she went about obtaining the rest of the information she needed to complete the initial portion of Dean's chart. Once she had all the information, she input Sam's name into the system and surprised to see a warning flash across the screen as his file was brought up. She carefully read the information that had been placed on the file by the last nurse who had seen him just a few short days ago.

She looked at John again as she said, "I see that Samuel was brought in by his brother with injuries on Tuesday night."

"Yes," confirmed John. He knew that this was going to add complications and he hoped that by answering the questions with accurate yet limited responses, he would be able to dispel many of the problems. "He'd been in a fight at school. His injuries were a result of that."

"There's a notation about some questionable bruising on his neck," stated the nurse.

"Look," acquiesced John with only a mild level of exasperation evident in his voice, "Children's Services has already talked to us about that. The boys were horsing around and it just got a little of out of hand." He paused briefly before he added, "And that has nothing to do with why he's here now. He re-injured himself in the car accident and he went into shock before I got him here."

"I see," replied the nurse. She didn't say anything else, as there was nothing in their system to implicate John in anything untoward with either of his sons. She'd fill in the information and include the previous file with the report she forwarded to the Emergency personnel and let a doctor take it from there.

When John finished at the desk, the nurse showed him into the room where Sam was waiting to see a doctor. Sam had been transferred from the wheelchair and was now lying in a hospital bed covered with warm blankets to help regulate his body temperature and alleviate the shock. A nurse had just finished taking his blood pressure as John walked into the room.

As the nurse turned to leave, John asked quietly, "How is he?"

"He's doing fine," replied the nurse with a smile. "We're dealing with the shock right now and we'll wait until he's stable before we start to treat his other injuries. He just needs to rest for a while."

John nodded and looked over at Sam before he turned back to the nurse and asked, "My other son, Dean. He was unconscious when I brought him in and they took him through those doors. How can I find out how he's doing?"

The nurse told him that she would check with the attendant at the desk and would be right back to let him know. John thanked her and the nurse exited the room. When John was alone with Sam, he approached the bed and looked at his son. But Sam was sleeping and John didn't want to disturb him so he simply assumed a seat across from the bed and quietly watched his son.

The nurse returned shortly thereafter and told John that Dean had been rushed to the Trauma Unit where they had stitched the wounds on his back and given him blood to replace what he had lost in the accident. He was currently in Recovery and should be transferred to a room in about an hour. John asked if he could see him and the nurse said that a doctor would probably be in to talk to him shortly. John thanked the nurse before she disappeared to attend to another patient.

After about ten minutes a doctor came in and introduced himself to John. He told him that he would take him to see Dean but that he had some questions that he would like to ask him on the way. John followed the doctor into the hall.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything about the wounds on your son's back," asked the doctor.

"He, uh, hurt himself in a farm accident," explained John. " I stitched the wounds myself, but he got into some sort of altercation at school and tore a few of them open again. I'm really not sure what happened tonight but I could tell he'd lost a fair bit of blood when I found him at the accident scene. I'm pretty sure that's why he passed out."

"Yes," confirmed the doctor, "He had lost a fair amount of blood. But there was something else that our initial lab tests picked up that might actually be another part of the problem. While the preliminary tests have ruled out drug or alcohol use, they picked up the presence of an unknown substance in his blood. We're conducting more tests to see if we can figure out what it is." He paused and looked sympathetically at John before he continued, "You wouldn't happened to know anything that might help us, would you?"

John knew that they had detected the Aswang poison, but he wasn't about to share that information with the doctor, so he simply stated that he had no idea what it could be. To the best of his knowledge, Dean didn't do drugs or smoke and he doubted very much that he had been drinking while he was out with his younger brother.

The doctor told John that they would be admitting Dean as soon as they felt he was stable enough to be moved from the Recovery Room. They would probably keep him for at least the next 24 hours but it might be longer depending on how he was doing and what they ended up finding in his blood.

They had reached the room where Dean was sleeping and the doctor motioned for John to precede him inside. John slowly walked up to Dean's bed. He couldn't believe how pale Dean looked and he wondered again what he had been up to that he had ended up endangering both his own life and Sammy's. As John watched him, that thought burned into his mind and he found that he was in danger of losing all empathy for his eldest son and was simply becoming increasingly annoyed.

He knew that it would be best if he just left the room for a while so he could calm down. He had been on edge on evening wondering what had happened to his boys and everything that had happened since then had only succeeded in increasing his anxiety. He had been ready to jump down Dean's throat for whatever he had been doing before he even knew exactly what was going on. And he had not had a chance to come to terms with the night's events and he realized that he was simply ready to blame Dean in order to get rid of some of his pent up anger.

So John took one more look at his oldest son before he turned to leave the room. As he walked into the hallway he glanced at the doctor and inquired about Dean's injuries.

"Other than the extreme loss of blood, he has a couple of bruised ribs and he's suffered a concussion. He has a fair bit of discolored ecchymosis throughout his body but they appear to have been caused at an earlier date." The doctor looked at John and questioned, "I'd say that most of those bruises look like they might have resulted from a physical altercation. Your son wouldn't happen to be prone to fighting, would he?"

John sighed before he answered, "My son is seventeen. He probably does lots of things that I'm not aware of. But he's always had a propensity to be a bit of a scrapper. I think it comes from moving around as much as we do."

The doctor nodded understandably. "The other thing that I am a bit concerned about are those deep wounds on his back. They're unlike anything I've ever seen before and I'd like to have a specialist take a look at them tomorrow, if that's okay with you."

John tried not to show his displeasure at the doctor's request; to do so would just arouse his curiosity. So he simply nodded and hoped that he'd be able to get Dean discharged before a specialist had a chance to take a look at him. This town wasn't big enough to have many doctors who specialized in various disciplines of medicine and John figured that they'd probably have to request that someone from the nearest city come out to see Dean.

They had arrived back at the Emergency Department and John turned to shake the doctor's hand before he headed into Sam's room. As he entered the room, John noticed that Sam was awake and seemed to be much more cognizant than he had been when he had left to check on Dean.

"Hey, Sammy," said John as he walked up to the bed. "How ya feelin'?"

"Okay, I guess," offered Sam. "Where's Dean?"

"He's just down the hall. I think they're going to keep him overnight."

"Is he really that bad?" asked Sam in alarm.

"Not really," stated John. "He just lost a lot of blood, that's all."

Just then a nurse came into the room and informed them that they were getting ready to reset Sam's shoulder. She was going to put some painkillers in the IV line and, once they took effect, they should be strong enough to help Sam deal with the pain. After his shoulder was reset, they would take him to the Plaster Room to replace his cast. As long as everything went smoothly and Sam didn't go back into shock, John could probably take him home in a couple of hours.

Both John and Sam watched as the nurse injected the liquid pain medication into the IV. It didn't take long for it to take effect and in only a few minutes Sam was having trouble staying awake again. The nurse asked John if he would mind waiting in the Visitors Station and they would come and get him when they were done.

John gently squeezed Sam's hand before he left the room. He wandered slowly into the waiting area and assumed a seat. He hadn't been seated long when the Emergency Room doors opened and two blood-drenched paramedics rushed through the doors with a patient on a stretcher that was also covered in blood. John only got a fleeting look at the young woman before they whisked her through the same doors that Dean had been taken about 90 minutes ago. It was obvious that the young woman was pregnant and for some reason, John thought that he recognized her.

As he tried to figure out how he could possibly know her, a police officer walked in escorting an obviously distraught young man who was also covered in blood.

John couldn't help listening to the man as he excitedly rambled on to both the policeman and the waiting medical personnel. His mostly incoherent monologue filled John with dread.

_"It was a cat...but bigger...with gigantic wings...like a bat...and huge claws...it attacked her...tried to tear her apart...with its teeth..."_


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N:** Again - Sorry for the length of time it took to update! I went for some minor surgery and ended up with phlebitis in my hand from the I.V. It made it too painful to type so I couldn't work on any of my stories._

_Anyway...all better now. Here's the next chapter! Hope it's okay._

_And thanks for all the wonderful reviews!_

* * *

John listened dumbfounded as the poor, distraught man rambled on and on about the thing that had attacked his wife. This had to mean that there was more than one Aswang in the vicinity because John knew for certain that he had killed the first one. He had watched it disintegrate before his eyes. So this new attack meant that he was going to have to stay in town and track this one down in order to kill it too. And he was going to have to find it soon, before more people died. 

As John contemplated how he was going to find this beast and destroy it, he suddenly realized why he had recognized this young woman. She was the young, pregnant woman that the last Aswang had stalked so ruthlessly. This new Aswang had obviously been stalking her as well and John realized that he hadn't saved her after all. He had simply left her vulnerable for another Aswang to prey upon and this one had almost succeeded in killing her, if it hadn't actually been successful in critically wounding her.

While John sat there and berated himself for not completely researching the Aswang legend and ensuring that they were truly solitary hunters, a nurse appeared to let him know that them they were ready to take Sam to the Plaster Room to replace his cast. He was welcome to accompany his son if he wished. John followed her back into the Emergency Department where he found Sammy sitting groggily in a wheelchair.

"Hey, Sammy," greeted John as he approached the wheelchair. "Ya ready to get a new cast?"

But Sam's only response was a slight nod in his father's direction. The painkillers had been extremely potent and he was still feeling less than coherent and only slightly awake.

John knelt in front of his son and put his hand gently on his knee. "Come-on, Bud. We'll get you a new cast and then we can go check on your brother. Okay?"

Again Sam nodded but he refrained from saying anything. The drugs were still affecting him and he kept drifting between wakefulness and sleep. John stood up, grabbed the wheelchair and steered it down the hall to the Plaster Room.

As he walked beside the nurse who was accompanying them, John asked quietly, "That woman who was just brought in? Is she going to be okay?"

"I'm really not sure," replied the nurse, sounding concerned. "She's in pretty bad shape."

"I could see that," responded John in agreement. "And what about her baby? Will it survive?"

The nurse shrugged. "I wish I could say for sure." She paused as she stopped before a set of doors before opening them and ushering John and Sam inside. "They're both very badly hurt. It's a good thing the police came upon the scene when they did. They stopped her husband from killing them both. Let's just hope that they arrived in time to save them."

John furrowed his brow as he asked, "I thought I heard him say that something had attacked her?"

"Yes," stated the nurse politely but a little sarcastically. "A big cat with huge wings. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? If he wanted to lay the blame on something else, you'd think he'd have at least come up with a story that was actually believable."

John smiled slightly. "Yeah, I suppose you're right," was all he said before he pushed Sam's wheelchair into the room where a technician was waiting to replace Sam's cast.

"Hey, young man," greeted the man as he took the wheelchair from John and rolled it over to a table in the middle of the room. "Didn't I just put that cast on you a few days ago?"

"Yeah," agreed Sam as he struggled to wake up, "But it broke."

"I thought I told you to stay away from all those girls who'd be trying to nurse a good-lookin' guy like you back to health," said the technician as he took the wheelchair from John and steered it over to the table at the opposite end of the room. "Well, let's have a look at it," the technician said as he grabbed Sam's arm and carefully inspected the shattered cast. "Looks like you were fending off a whole herd of girls with this thing."

The only place where the cast remained intact was where it wrapped around Sam's palm. The technician reached over and grabbed what looked like a gigantic pair of scissors from amongst the instruments on the table. Then he carefully placed Sam's arm on the table and slowly cut off the cast, taking care not to disturb Sam's wrist and cause more damage to it. When the old cast had been successfully removed, the technician cleansed Sam's arm with an antiseptic before he proceeded to set another one around Sam's wrist.

Once he had finished, he patted Sam on the knee and said, "Make sure you stay clear of all those girls this time. I don't want to see you back in here again. Okay?"

A slight grin appeared on Sam's lips but he was still too tired to play along so he didn't comment.

The technician turned to John, "You can take him back to Emerg now. Just let them know that we've replaced the cast and they'll tell you where they'd like you to wait. I doubt they want you to leave with him just yet."

John nodded, steered the wheelchair out of the room and down the hall. He walked up to the Nurse's Station and let them know that they were back from the Plaster Room. When they told him that they would like him to wait for at least 45 minutes to make sure Sam was going to be okay before they left, John asked if it would be possible to take Sam down to see his brother while they waited.

The nurse checked with the Trauma Unit to see if Dean had been admitted to a room yet and, was informed that Dean had been moved to Room 324. Then nurse hung up the phone and told John where he would be able to find his other son before she requested that, should Sam's condition worsen, he let any of the nurses on the unit know. John acknowledged her request with a slight nod of his head before he headed off to find Room 324.

John steered Sam's wheelchair into Dean's room and was surprised to see that his oldest son was awake and semi-sitting up in the bed.

"Dad? Sam?" queried Dean as he turned to look at them. "What the hell happened?"

"You passed out while you were driving. Don't you remember?" stated Sam, pain now evident in his voice. The drugs were beginning to wear off.

"No…Well, yeah…Kinda" replied Dean, obviously a bit perplexed. "But how did I end up here?"

"I brought you," stated John tersely.

"You did?" questioned Dean in confusion. "But how did you know…?"

"Sam called me," interrupted John iritably. "It's a good thing you lost consciousness when you did and not five minutes later while you were driving down the highway. Otherwise both of you could have been hurt a lot worse."

Dean lay back in his bed, closed his eyes and sighed before he suddenly bolted upright and exclaimed with alarm. "Sammy! Are you okay? You're not hurt are you?"

"I just dislocated my shoulder again when we crashed," stated Sam matter-of-factly. He was tired of discussing the entire ordeal and just wanted to go back to the motel. He knew his father was going to give Dean the third degree about everything that had happened that evening but he was hoping they could postpone that discussion - and impending reprimand - at least until the morning.

"Oh…Thank God," stated Dean as he once again fell back against the mattress and let his eyes fall shut.

"You realize that you have some explaining to do, don't you?" questioned John, perhaps more forcefully than he had originally intended.

"About what…" began Dean as he opened his eyes to look at his father. The look on his face made Dean rethink what he might otherwise have responded and he simply answered, "Yes Sir."

"Good. And this time, you're going to explain everything to me, starting with what's actually going on between you and Robin Leavey."

"Dad, I don't know what you're talking…"

But John's harsh look effectively silenced his son. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Dean. And I want to know what it is so I can put a stop to it - _now_. "

"Dad, there's nothing…"

"Dean," warned John sternly. "Don't play games with me. I'm not in the mood. This entire fiasco has gone quite far enough."

Dean swallowed hard but he held his father's gaze before he responded with a quiet "Yes Sir."

"Well?" asked John impatiently, raising his eyebrows at his eldest child.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. How was he going to get out of this? There was no way he was going to tell his father the real reason behind his squabble with Robin. Not only would it sound childish and immature but his father had lectured him about taking other guys' girlfriends out before. This wasn't the first time it had turned into a bit of a problem. It was just the first time that it had escaladed out of control. And it was also the first time that it had morphed into a situation where Sammy had been placed in danger and actually been hurt because of it.

It was that thought that made Dean realize that he had better come clean with his father and brother. Although he was willing to deal with whatever consequences his actions brought him, he wasn't willing to continue putting Sammy in jeopardy. It would be better to fess up now and deal with his father's wrath and disappointment than it would be to deal with his own guilt if something else happened to Sammy.

"I, umm…" started Dean. He cleared his throat and continued, "I took Robin's girlfriend out. And I guess he didn't like it."

"Really?" stated John in mock disbelief. "I can't understand that."

Dean stopped short of rolling his eyes at his father. He could handle his father's anger and would rather he yell at him than ridicule him with sarcasm. Especially when he knew that he was going to be in big trouble once everything was out in the open.

"Dad…he's a wimp who thinks he's a hotshot," explained Dean in frustration. "I could kick his ass into next week just by looking at him. I really didn't think he'd turn into this much of a problem."

"And you're a hotshot who thinks he's invincible," shot back his father. This time the anger was evident in his voice. "How did you think he was going to react? Invite you over for dinner?"

This time Dean did roll his eyes - although they were closed at the time. "It wasn't like that. Nancy was all over me the minute we moved to this stupid town. And Robin is such a jerk-off who thinks he owns the whole school that I figured it wouldn't hurt him to be knocked down a notch or two. I just wanted to show him that he isn't that shit-hot!"

"But you are?" inserted John crossly.

"No," replied Dean, exasperated. "But there's nobody in this town that's going to stand up to him so I just wanted to let him know that he wasn't going to intimidate me."

"So you decided to do that by taking his girlfriend out?" asked John cynically.

Dean sighed. This wasn't coming out the way he wanted it to. Of course, the fact that he had never really tried to rationalize his decision to take Nancy out didn't help. Now that he was actually thinking about it, it had probably been a really stupid thing to do. But what else did he have to do for fun? He didn't have any friends. And there was absolutely nothing to do in this asinine town. Sammy wanted his own space and he had his own friends. And Dad was always so wrapped up in finding whatever it was they were hunting that he barely had time to even think about their family.

What exactly was it that Dad thought he should do between going to school and hunting? Sit around and watch the grass grow? What was so wrong with filling the time enjoying a little female companionship?

It wasn't his fault that he seemed to attract girls the same way that flames attracted moths. They just seemed to gravitate towards him. Was he just supposed to ignore them too? Just like he ignored everything else that should be a normal part of growing up. Everything else that, under normal circumstances, should be important to him.

Everything, that is, except Sammy and Dad.

So he had a little bit of fun. He took other guys' girlfriends out. What difference did it make anyway? And who was he really hurting in the end? He never went out with any of them for more than a couple of dates. And then they usually ended up right back with their boyfriends. So he'd really just provided everyone with a little bit of a change for a little while. There was really no harm done.

Dean looked up at his father but his gaze quickly fell to Sammy sitting quietly in the wheelchair. It was evident from his brother's demeanor that he was in a tremendous amount of pain. And as Dean stared at his baby brother, the realization of Sam's situation hit him like a ton of bricks:

That was the harm that had been done. And all of it caused by his actions.

Dean winced as he looked back at his father. His voice was barely louder than a whisper as he said, "I'm sorry." It was all he could offer. He knew his words sounded hollow and, although his apology had come from the bottom of his heart, was really a case of too little, too late.

Now it was John's turn to sigh. Although part of him still wanted to wring Dean's neck, he knew that he had never intended for Sammy to get hurt. Dean would never purposely put Sam in danger. But the fact remained that he had. Sam had been hurt because of Dean's thoughtlessness.

John clamped down on his rising anger and simply asked, "So…all this other garbage that's happened…Robin's brother picking on Sam, the assault charge, the fights at school? They're all a result of this?"

Dean shrugged, "Yeah, I guess." He glanced between his father and Sam before he added, "How was I supposed to know he'd take it this far?"

"What have I told you about always knowing your adversary?" quipped John. "You think a situation like this should be any different?"

"I guess not," replied Dean dismally. "It just never occurred to me that he'd go after Sammy just to get back at me. I figured he'd come after me."

"You know," responded John, trying to at least sound sympathetic, "People aren't that predictable. They don't follow guidelines. They're sneaky and conniving and they'll do anything to get back at someone who's wronged them. And, if they can't do it in a physical confrontation, they'll find another means of attack."

Dean shook his head slowly. "Robin's kinda this little mafia kingpin at school and I thought that the worst that he'd do would be to sic his little posse of followers on me. But I wasn't really worried about them either."

"He obviously knew you better than you knew him," stated John emphatically. "He knew enough about you to go after your brother instead of challenging you directly. And absolutely none of your bravado or fighting skills were a match for that, were they?"

"No Sir."

"So, I gather the situation just escalated until you ended up getting suspended from school because I assume the fight you had with that other boy is related to this. Right?"

"Yes Sir," replied Dean sheepishly. "Andy is Robin's sidekick. Or bodyguard. However you want to look at it. But he thinks he's a tough guy and he intimidates everyone at school. He fights most of Robin's battles for him and I just kinda figured that it'd be him who'd try to exact revenge for Robin."

"And that didn't concern you at all?" questioned John.

"No Sir. Not after some of the other things I've fought"

Dean swallowed hard. He knew that he was sounding way too confident in himself but he figured he owed it to Sam to at least try to explain what he had been thinking. And, if that made his father and brother think he was an inconsiderate, conceited bastard, then he probably deserved that too.

"Dean, you can't go around thinking that nobody is a threat to you. People will find a way to get back at you. It's true that what goes around comes around and I think this is a prime example of that. Don't you?"

"No, Dad. I don't," stated Dean forcefully. "All I did was take out his girlfriend - who could have said 'No' by the way. But she jumped at the chance." He glared at his father as he continued, "Robin had his little brother go after Sam. That's not the same thing."

"It was one stupid act followed by another one," declared John angrily.

Dean looked away. He couldn't argue with that.

"And then I guess that Robin decided he'd fix you really good after you threatened his brother," injected John. "That's why he encouraged Rick to tell their parents; so they could charge you with assault. I doubt the apple fell very far from the tree in that family."

John was quiet for a few minutes as he tried to figure this entire affair out in his mind. It was obvious that Dean had confronted Robin and told him to have his brother back off Sam and, after the assault charged was thrown out, the situation between the boys started to spiral out of control.

He looked back at his eldest son and announced, "So, when the sheriff threatened to charge his brother for assaulting Sam, that's when Robin and his buddies decided to deal with you themselves. And that's how you ended up getting suspended from school." He cleared his throat in order to get Dean to look at him. "Am I correct so far?"

"Yes Sir," responded Dean, resisting the urge to elaborate any further.

"And Sam already told me that they had planned to ambush you after school, but after you got suspended, they had to alter their plans. That's when they decided to grab Sammy instead, knowing you'd go after him."

"How'd you know that?" questioned Dean, glancing at both his father and brother.

"That's what they told me," responded Sam, entering the conversation for the first time.

"So you just decided to go with them?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"It wasn't like that!" shot back Sam irritably. "The told me they already had you, that they'd grabbed you as you left school. I didn't know you'd been suspended. I just knew you weren't there to pick me up and Rick and his brother said they wouldn't hurt you as long as I went with them."

"I can't believe you actually fell for that," stated Dean incredulously.

"Well...what else was I supposed to think?" countered Sam in annoyance. "Why weren't you there to pick me up anyway?"

"That's exactly what I'd like to know," injected John.

"There was an accident on the main road," explained Dean. "I had to take the back streets. And by the time I got there, Sam was already gone."

"And how were you able to figure out where he was?" asked John.

"I thought he might have gone home with Jake, so I drove there. But he told me that Sammy had gone with Rick - in Robin's car."

"How did you know where they'd taken him," asked John, hoping to clear up the most perplexing aspect of this entire affair.

"Nancy," stated Dean flatly. When both his father and Sam stared at him quizzically, Dean continued, "I knew that she wouldn't get mixed up in whatever Robin was plotting, so I went to her house hoping to find her. Her mother told me that she was probably at Maxfields and that's where I found her with a couple of her friends."

"And she was willing to talk to you?" asked John in amazement.

"What can I say?" shrugged Dean unapologetically. "She still likes me."

"So she told you where Robin had taken Sam?" asked John with a small shake of his head.

"Not in so many words," replied Dean. "I asked her why she wasn't with Robin and she told me that he had gone out to his family's vacation house on Grand Lake to do something for his parents. So I just mentioned that it was kind of odd that he hadn't taken her with him. You know – like what could he possibly be doing on a Friday night that couldn't include his girlfriend That kinda peaked her curiosity and she tried calling him but he didn't answer. I made some comment about him being to busy to talk to her. Then I left and drove out a few miles toward Grand Lake, hoping that she'd be curious enough to drive out to see what Robin was doing for herself. And, sure enough, about half and hour later I saw her car drive by. So I just followed her all the way to Robin's."

John rolled his eyes but he had to give his son credit; if nothing else he could be extremely resourceful. "And then you tried to break into the house to rescue Sammy but they ambushed you?"

"No. I actually made it into the house without being seen, but just as I got in, Robin and his buddies paraded Sammy onto the back deck to try to get me into reveal myself."

"You were there for that?" asked Sam in frustration. "And you just let them hit me."

"I didn't have any other choice, Sammy," explained Dean sympathetically. "I couldn't let them know I was there. There was no way I woulda been able to fight off five guys at the same time."

"I was there! I coulda helped!" interjected Sam.

"Sammy, think about it. They already had you. They'd have grabbed you as soon as they saw me and used you as a pawn to stop me from doing anything. It just wasn't worth the risk to both of us. And, besides, I really didn't think Robin would let his brother cut you with that knife if they didn't think I was there. He was only using you to get to me. So I decided it would be best to lie low and wait until they took you far enough away and wouldn't be able to use you as leverage against me. When they took you back into the house, I snuck back outside and surprised both Robin and Andy. We got into a bit of a fight at the side of the house and I was doing okay until that damn Aswang poison kicked in again and I just passed out."

John was a still a little bit confused but he thought he had the gist of what had happened so he stated for clarification, "So that's how they managed to grab you. After the poison knocked you out again."

"Yeah," agreed Dean. "And I didn't wake up until someone kicked me in the ribs and I heard Sammy scream at them to stop."

"You were awake then?" asked Sam in amazement.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but I couldn't let on so I just acted like I was still unconscious. I figured they'd eventually get tired of waiting around for me to wake up and go about their business. Then I'd only have to deal with whoever they left guarding me. And once I did that, I'd be able to grab Sammy and get the hell outta there."

"Only they took me downstairs to the kitchen when they heard you fighting with Robin's friend," interrupted Sam.

"Yep," confirmed Dean. "And we both ended up in one hell of a fight before we kicked their asses and left." Dean looked apologetically at his father before he added, "I guess I just overdid it a bit and that's why I passed out while I was driving home."

"Ya think?" stated John irritably. "And it never occurred to you that maybe you should have let me know what was going on?"

"I thought I could handle it," replied Dean. He was sure he was in for a lecture from his father now.

But before John could utter another word, a familiar voice interrupted their conversation.

"Mr. Winchester."

John turned around and was only a little surprised to see Sheriff Durham standing the doorway. By the look on his face, John was sure the reason for his visit wasn't going to be a friendly one.

Still, he opted out of tipping his hand and simply responded, "Sheriff Durham" with a slight nod of his head.

"I thought I warned you to keep your sons away from the Leavey boys."


	35. Chapter 35

John turned and stared at the sheriff, not quite believing what he had just heard. Although he had known that the sheriff was bound to get involved sooner or later, John had hoped that he'd have a bit more time to figure out what was going on himself and how he was going to handle this.

Obviously that wasn't going to happen.

Finally, Dean's voice broke the silence. "Stay away from the Leaveys? What? Are you kidding me?"

Sheriff Durham turned his attention away from John and let his gaze fall heavily onto Dean. "No Son, I'm not. I just came from their house on Grand Lake and they tell me you caused quite a ruckus up there. Things like Break and Enter. Assault and Battery."

"I don't believe this," commented Dean as he fell back against the mattress.

"Dean, I think maybe I should handle this" cautioned John, before he once again addressed the sheriff. "What exactly did the Leaveys have to tell you?"

The sheriff glanced at Dean before he turned back to John, "Maybe it would be best if we discussed this in private."

"No," answered John, barely concealing his discontent, "If this involves one or both of my sons, I'd just as soon we discuss it with them present."

"Suit yourself," stated the sheriff, "But I don't think you're going to like what I have to say."

"Of course we won't," interceded Dean sarcastically, "You've already spoken to the Leaveys"

"_Dean_," warned John forcefully, before he closed his eyes and tried to maintain at least some of his composure.

"Yes, I spoke to them" responded the sheriff, letting his irritation show, "Because they called me." He paused briefly before he added, "Which is more than what you did."

"Sorry," mumbled Dean under his breath. "I was a little busy being unconscious."

DEAN!" reiterated John, now extremely annoyed. "_Please_!"

John took a deep breath. He wanted to sound somewhat rational before he spoke again. And if Dean was going to keep infiltrating the conversation with sarcastic remarks, then John knew that the sheriff was eventually going to just give up and base his investigation on whatever the Leaveys had told him.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff Durham, " offered John. Casting Dean a sideways glance, he said, "And I promise that my son won't add any more unnecessary comments. Please continue."

The sheriff glanced at Dean before he nodded slightly and took a few steps into the room. "We received a call at the station just after 10:00 p.m. requesting that we send both a deputy and an ambulance to the Leavey residence on Grand Lake. According to the caller, the Leavey's oldest boy had been the victim of a vicious beating and required medical attention. But because the alleged victim was the deputy-major's son, the dispatcher called me and I decided I should go myself instead of sending a deputy. When I got there, I found five boys who all looked like they could have been in a heavyweight fight. And both Leavey boys were in pretty rough shape – Robin being the worst off."

John glanced over at Dean before he looked back at the sheriff and asked, "How bad was he?"

"He had a severe concussion caused by repeated blows to his head."

John sighed. "And he told you that Dean was responsible?"

"Actually, Robin refused to say anything. He didn't want to talk about it and was trying to convince me to leave when his parents showed up. His father couldn't even get him to say who was responsible," stated the sheriff with a quick glance at Dean. "In fact, all of the boys were pretty tight-lipped at first. It wasn't until Mr. Leavey lost his temper and threatened to have them all charged with vandalism for the damage in the house that someone finally mentioned your son's name."

"And they said he caused all their injuries by himself? On all five boys?" asked John incredulously.

"Not all by himself," conceded the sheriff. "Your other son's name came up too."

"So...my two sons ganged up on the two Leavey boys and three of their friends...Is that what you're telling me?" queried John, stressing how ridiculous that sounded.

"Not quite like that," replied Sheriff Durham with a slight smile, "According to the other boys, your sons somehow managed to break into the house where they lay in wait until they were able to get each of the boys alone. That's when they attacked them - ganged up on them, if you want - which is what enabled them to take down all five boys. And there is plenty of evidence in the house to back up their story. Damaged walls, disarrayed furniture, broken knick-knacks - things like that. Not to mention the physical injuries to the boys themselves." He paused and looked at both Sam and Dean before he added, "But…what no one could explain to me was why your boys would go out there in the first place - except maybe just to cause trouble."

"Oh, give me a break," sighed Dean in exasperation. "Why would we do that?"

"Well Son, I know for a fact that you were out that way tonight," stated the sheriff flatly. "I came across a tow-truck pulling your car out of the ditch as I was on my way to the Leavey place. So I'd already guessed that you were probably involved." He addressed John as he continued, "And I know that there's a history between your younger son and Rick Leavey. But, if I recall, your older boy said he barely knew Robin Leavey and that's how he preferred it. So, what I'd like to know is" and he glanced back at Dean "Why he followed him out to Grand Lake tonight, if he wasn't specifically looking for trouble."

"I didn't follow him," stated Dean angrily. "I went out to get my brother after they conned him into going with them."

"Who conned him into going with them?" questioned the sheriff, puzzled.

"Rick and his brother" put in Sam.

The sheriff looked at Sam and asked, "How'd they con you, Son?"

"After school," explained Sam, "Rick told me that his brother and his friends had grabbed Dean at school and that, if I didn't want him to get hurt, I'd have to go with them. And when Dean wasn't there to pick me up I figured he must be telling the truth so I got in Robin's car and went with them. That's when they drove out to Grand Lake." He looked sheepishly at the sheriff, "But it was all a lie. They never had Dean. They just told me that so I'd go with them because they knew Dean would come looking for me."

"And what was the point of that?" queried the sheriff in disbelief.

"To get back at me," answered Dean.

"For what?" asked Sheriff Durham.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes slightly at the thought of having to confess to it once again. "For taking his girlfriend out. He's been trying to get back at me ever since."

"So you're telling me that he kidnapped your brother because you went out with his girlfriend?" asked the sheriff skeptically.

"It's a little more complicated than that," admitted Dean.

"Better start filling me in then. Looks like I'm not going anywhere for a while," stated Sheriff Durham as he pulled up a chair beside Dean's bed and took a seat.

Again Dean sighed, "After I took Nancy out, nothing really happened. But shortly after that Sammy started having trouble with this kid who was picking on him. I didn't find out that he was Robin's brother until after the fight he had with Sam and me telling him to stay away from him. But as soon as I found out who he was, it clicked that Robin was having his little brother go after Sammy to get back at me. So the next day at school I told Robin that he better have his brother back off. He didn't say or do much except goad me about the assault charge, but after you got them to drop it, that's when all the trouble started at school."

"What trouble at school?" asked the sheriff, bewildered.

"Dean's been suspended for a week - for fighting," input John bluntly

"With Robin Leavey?" asked the sheriff.

"No," corrected Dean. "With Andy Warner."

Sheriff Durham nodded slightly, "He was one of the boys at the Leavey residence tonight. And I know he's a good friend of Robin."

"Yeah," conceded Dean, "He does most of his fighting for him."

After a little more background information on what had been going on at the high school, Sheriff Durham swung the conversation back to the events of that night. He listened patiently - if not somewhat disbelieving - as Sam and Dean explained what had happened at the Leavey house omitting any reference to the Aswang, its poison and the claw marks on Dean's back.

When they had finished reiterating their tale, Sheriff Durham wiped his hands over his face and sat back for a minute without saying anything. In a strange sort of way, their story made sense. He knew that Robin Leavey was a troublemaker who had a little group of followers that did exactly what he wanted. But he was still having a hard time believing that the two boys in front of him could successfully take down five other teenagers, especially considering that one of them was only thirteen and had previous injuries of his own. Although, it was possible - _if_ it happened like they said it did. Still, there was one aspect of the case that puzzled him.

"Where did all the blood in the house come from?" Sheriff Durham questioned.

"From Dean," stated Sam.

"He hurt himself a couple of days ago in a farming accident," injected John hurriedly before either of the boys could make up a different story. "He needed some stitches on his back. Some of them ripped open during the fight."

"But you were still able to take down all those boys, even with all that blood loss?" asked the sheriff doubtfully.

"Yes Sir," replied Dean, not bothering to provide any further information.

"I can't believe that you'd still be standing," commented the sheriff dryly, "Let alone fighting."

"Well, he did pass out in the car when we were driving home," mentioned Sam. "That's why the car went into the ditch."

Sheriff Durham closed his eyes briefly before he opened them again and addressed John, "And what did you know about all of this?"

"Absolutely nothing," replied John honestly. "Dean never said anything about Robin and his connection to the problems Sam was having with Rick Leavey. Not even when they tried to have him charged with assault. Nor did he provide me with any details about the fight at school. I had no idea they were all connected until I demanded an explanation from them just before you got here."

"And did Dean tell you where he was headed tonight?" inquired Sheriff Durham.

"Actually, the last time I saw him was when he left to pick Sammy up at school. When they didn't come home, I tried calling his cell phone, but he had turned it off. After a while, I got in my truck and drove around town looking for the car but I didn't find it either. And I was just about to call your station when I got the call from Sammy about the accident."

"I see," responded the sheriff, not really knowing what else to say. He let out a slow, deep breath before he looked at John and said, "I'd really like to talk to you alone for a minute."

John nodded and the two men proceeded out into the hall. The hall was deserted so they just walked a few feet away from the door before they stopped to talk.

Sheriff Durham sighed before he began, "Look...this issue isn't just going to go away on its own. Greg Leavey is extremely upset about the injuries both his sons suffered and the damage to his house." He paused for a moment. "And a couple of the other boys' parents are on town council too. None of them are going to be willing to ignore what happened and let this go unpunished. And they certainly won't want to admit that their boys had anything to do with it. It's going to be your sons' heads that they'll want on a platter."

"What about the fact that those boys kidnapped Sam?" asked John harshly. "That doesn't count for anything?"

"Unfortunately, there's no way to prove that they actually took him against his will," stated the sheriff regretfully. "There's no way they'll ever admit to it and it'll end up being your sons' word against theirs. And with their parents' positions in town, what they have to say is going to carry a lot more weight than what your boys say."

"Funny how the truth just never seems to matter," said John petulantly.

"Not in a small town," admitted the sheriff, "Especially when it involves the some of the town's most influential families."

"Yeah, I've picked that up in other places that we've lived," stated John sullenly, "Only it's never turned into a problem like this before."

"Well, this is actually a first for me too," confessed Sheriff Durham. "I'm not originally from this town and I've had my share of problems because of it. It's just because I'm the sheriff that I haven't had any big run-ins with the locals." He paused for a moment. "I know that I'm going to have to lay some charges before this whole thing is over and I'm sure you and your boys are going to end up taking the brunt of them."

"I understand that," replied John. "But we really aren't the types to turn tail and run."

"Look," suggested Sheriff Durham, "I know that you and your boys have been living in a motel ever since your arrival in town. And quite honestly, it doesn't seem that you're really too interested in staying." He stopped and glanced around the hallway to make sure they were not within hearing distance of anyone before he continued, "If you were to, say, pack up and leave town before I completed my investigation, I wouldn't have any idea where you'd moved to and I wouldn't be able to serve you with any papers. And I could tell everyone who asks that I was still trying to track you down, until this whole thing blows over and is forgotten."

John couldn't help but smirk a bit; it wasn't often that he was offered this kind of help from law enforcement.

"Thanks for the offer," replied John, "But unfortunately, I can't leave town just yet. Not until my work is finished."

"How long is that going to be?" asked the sheriff.

"I can't say for sure," shrugged John. "But I am hoping that it's not too much longer."

"Well," offered the sheriff, "I'll see what I can do to drag out my investigation - just to give you a chance to complete your work. But I can't guarantee anything."

"I understand that," responded John sincerely as he offered his hand to the sheriff, "And I do appreciate all the help you've given us."

"No problem," said the sheriff as he shook John's hand. As he turned to leave, he asked, "What kind of business is it that brought you to town anyway?"

"It's kind of a population protection thing. It's a little hard to explain."

"For the government?"

"Freelance."

Sheriff Durham nodded and he started to walk away. As John watched him retreat, he overheard the dispatcher come over the sheriff's radio:

"Unit 1-1, come in"

"Go ahead."

"We have a report of a vicious 10-31on an unknown female in Brewer Park. The caller didn't provide many details other than it involved some kind of unknown animal. Can you respond?"

"On my way," answered Sheriff Durham and he took off running down the hallway.

John knew that a 10-31 was police jargon for an crime in progress and he was pretty sure that the animal in question was an Aswang. Maybe, if he could get out to the scene fast enough, he'd still have time to confront the creature and kill it. But first he'd have to get Sammy cleared to leave.

John spun around and dashed back into Dean's room. As he strode through the door he barked, "Sammy, we gotta go!"

"Where we goin'? Home?" questioned Sam hopefully.

"No. There's an Aswang attack in Brewer Park. We're going there to kill it before it has a chance to attack anyone else."

"But didn't we kill it already?" asked Dean perplexed.

"There's another one," stated John tersely as he grabbed Sam's wheelchair and spun it around. "It attacked a woman earlier this evening. I was sitting in Emergency when they brought her in."

"How do you know it was an Aswang?" queried Sam.

"Because I overheard the husband describe the creature that attacked her," answered John as he pushed Sam's wheelchair toward the door. "I don't have time to explain. We have to get to the park before it disappears."

"Do I have to go with you?" asked Sam irritably, "Can't I just stay here with Dean?"

"No, I want you with me. I'm going to need your help," quipped John forcefully.

"I'll come," announced Dean as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"No you won't," ordered John firmly as he turned to face his oldest son. "You're in absolutely no shape to hunt. You're staying here."

"But Dad..." protested Dean.

"That's an order, Dean," commanded John as he waltzed out the door before Dean had a chance to argue any further.

John rushed Sam back to Emergency, going right up to the nurse's desk where he hurriedly told them that Sam hadn't suffered any sign of a relapse and that he was hoping to take him home so he could get some sleep. With a brief look at Sam and a couple of questions about how he was feeling, the nurse told John that it would all right for him to leave. Before he wheeled his son out of the hospital, the nurse gave John a warning about letting Sam overexert himself for the next few days, which John acknowledged with a quick nod. As soon as they were outside, John ordered Sam to get out of the wheelchair. The moment Sam stood up, John pushed the wheelchair against the wall and out of their way.

"Come on Sam," quipped John impatiently as he strode toward the parking lot, "We've already wasted too much time."

Sam did his best to match his father's long strides, but he was tired and sore and he had a difficult time keeping up. John looked disapprovingly back at him a few times in an attempt to get him to catch up. But Sam had no desire to accompany his father on this hunt and even his father's stern glares weren't enough to make him speed up. He just wanted to go to bed. This day had been long enough already.

And Sam knew it was about to get even longer.

When John reached the truck, he swung the door open and turned to look at Sam. "Sammy! Hurry up!" he called, irritation evident in his voice.

"I'm coming," answered Sam wearily.

"_Move faster_!"

Sam rolled his eyes, confident that he was far enough away that his father wouldn't see it, but he increased his speed to breach the distance to the truck. As he rounded the front of the vehicle and opened his door, he looked at his father who was now sitting in the truck and said, "I don't know how much help you think I'm going to be with a broken wrist and an arm in a sling."

John glared angrily at Sam as he climbed into the passenger seat but he didn't say anything until Sam had closed the door and he reversed the truck out of its parking spot.

As he put the truck into drive, John again looked at Sam and stated sternly, "You're be an extra pair of eyes. All you'll have to do is figure out how to hold a gun so you can use it if you have to."

"What if I can't?" mumbled Sam miserably. "Maybe I'll just end up being a hindrance."

"No you won't," responded John authoritatively, "I've trained you better than that."

The drive to Brewer Park was made in silence as John contemplated how he was going to hunt down the Aswang. Sam was just as glad that his father wasn't saying anything; that meant that he didn't have to say anything either. As they neared the park, they could see the roof-lights of the sheriff's car and the ambulances lighting up the night sky.

John drove slowly past; he carefully scrutinized the scene hoping to pinpoint anyone that looked that they might be the next victim. He knew that the Aswang would have fled the scene as soon as help had arrived, but John believed that it would still be in the immediate vicinity. Before they had come to town, a young boy had been killed and when a young female deputy had been left alone at the scene to complete the investigation, she had been attacked and killed. Based on that attack John felt that the Aswang was nearby and watching all the activity; waiting until it could strike again. All he had to do was find it before it had a chance.

John drove around the park before he stopped the truck behind a cluster of trees bordering the park. The truck was hidden from view of all the emergency personnel on the scene. He and Sam would be able to conceal themselves in the woods where they would wait until the Aswang revealed itself.

John grabbed a gun that he had hidden under the seat before he exited the truck and ran quickly around to the back with Sam close behind. He pulled down the tailgate and yanked a large toolbox toward him. He unlatched the lid and swung it open to reveal an amazing cache of weapons. He rummaged through the multitude of firearms until he found a small, chrome pistol with an elongated barrel that he quickly handed to Sam.

"Use this," John commanded tersely, "Aim for the heart. There's a silver bullet in the chamber and it will kill the creature on impact."

Sam reluctantly took the gun. As he manipulated it in his wounded hand, Sam slowly turned around and leaned against the tailgate. He sighed and looked up, toward the park.

"Uhh...Dad?"

"What?" replied John impatiently, as he too spun around.

And as he looked up, John came face to face with three Aswangs hovering right in front of him.


	36. Chapter 36

Dean slammed his fist heavily into the mattress as he watched his father and brother disappear through the doorway. He couldn't believe what had just happened. What was his father thinking taking Sammy with him on this hunt? He, of all people, should have realized how dangerous it was going to be. And Sammy was hurt - and tired. That had been more than evident just by looking at him.

But instead of acknowledging that – and yielding to Sammy's request to stay behind - his father had determined that it was going to be Dean who sat this one out. And why was that? Because he wasn't in any shape to hunt.

Says who? Some silly doctor who had decided that he should stay in the hospital overnight? Just because he'd lost a little bit of blood. And because they couldn't figure out what the foreign substance in his blood was.

Not his fault they were all stupid.

But they'd already taken care of the blood loss. They'd given him enough blood to replace what he'd lost. And he sure as hell wasn't going to tell them about the Aswang poison. Some things were just better off being left unsaid – and unexplained.

So, all things considered, there was really nothing else they could do for him. All he had to do was get rid of the stupid IV that was still pumping some sort of murky liquid into his veins. It was probably only a type of water solution anyway that was intended to stop him from getting dehydrated. They couldn't possibly be giving him any kind of medication. Because they didn't have the foggiest idea what was wrong with him. Other than he'd been in a fight and lost some blood.

Big deal.

He was still in better shape than his brother. And his father would have known that – if he'd bothered to stop and pay attention. But he was too wrapped up in being the Big Game Hunter. Trying to stop some bloodthirsty creature from killing another unsuspecting person. Never mind that it probably poised an even bigger danger to Sam. Hell, the last Aswang had already gone after him the first time he was hurt. And he hadn't looked half as bad then. But his father had obviously forgotten about that. Either that or he had just chosen to ignore it when he dashed off with Sam and left him behind.

Well…fat chance on that one. Because there was absolutely no way in hell that he was just going to wait around in a stupid hospital bed while his father and Sammy were out on a hunt.

And screw anybody that thought he should.

Dean reached over and yanked the curtain across the front of the bed to prevent anyone from looking into the room and noticing what he was doing. As the curtain swayed gently into place, he meticulously removed the IV from his arm and inserted the needle securely into one of the pillows. Not wanting the liquid solution to saturate the pillow, Dean closed the valve at the bottom of the IV bag before he spun the pillow around so that it was lying crossways on the bed. Then he grabbed the second pillow, placing it at the bottom of the first pillow before he swung the sheet over both of them. Dean jumped off the bed and plumped the pillows up to make it look like he was still lying in the bed. As long as no one looked too closely, they would think that he was simply sleeping on his side. It should be enough to fool them for a couple of hours anyway.

Satisfied that his absence wouldn't be detected immediately, Dean peered cautiously around the curtain. Not seeing anyone nearby, he grabbed the bag of clothes that was sitting on the floor beside the nightstand and pulled out his jeans. As he slipped them on, he was shocked to discover just how much blood had soaked into the fabric. But, because most of the stains were concentrated near the waist, he figured his t-shirt would cover the majority of it. Lifting the shirt out of the bag, he was dismayed at its condition; there was barely an inch on the back of the shirt not covered in blood. And that wasn't all. The shirt had been completely slit up the front; obviously done by some over-zealous hospital worker to remove it from his body when his father had brought him into Emergency.

Great. Another one of his favorite t-shirts ruined.

Deciding that the ripped, bloody t-shirt would likely draw more attention than he needed, Dean tossed it back into the bag and tucked the oversized hospital gown into his jeans, making sure to leave enough out in order to drape it over the bloodstained waistband of his jeans. The makeshift shirt would look better than his ripped t-shirt and be less noticeable than going shirtless. Dean took a quick look at himself in the mirror and decided that, at quick glance, the tucked-in gown looked good enough to be mistaken for a regular shirt. Because that was all he was hoping for. A little bit of leeway in order to get off the ward and out of the hospital without attracting attention to himself and having someone realize that he was actually a patient.

Once he had gotten dressed, Dean cautiously made his way to the doorway and peered up and down the hall. Noticing a nurse walking in his direction Dean ducked back into the room and leaned tightly against the wall, hoping she was not headed to his room. When she didn't come in or pass by his room, Dean glanced into the hallway once again. This time there were no nurses or doctors in sight so Dean bolted from the room, headed in the direction of the stairway. When he reached the stairs, Dean gently pushed the door open, walked into the stairwell and quietly eased the door shut in order to avoid detection. As soon as he had closed the door, Dean spun around and sprinted down the stairs to the exit…

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John instinctively stepped in front of Sam, using his body to shield his youngest son from the Aswangs. In the millisecond it took for his mind to register what was happening, John realized that bringing Sammy with him had been a mistake. A big mistake. A very big mistake.

It was, without a doubt, the worst mistake he had ever made.

As he mentally kicked himself for his serious lapse of judgment, John rapidly assessed their situation: There were three very hungry, very powerful and very pissed-off Aswangs in front of them. His truck was behind them. The woods were to their left. And an abandoned warehouse was situated across the street on their right. But, with the three Aswangs hovering directly in front of them, all possible escape routes had been effectively cut off.

Not good.

In fact, it was nothing short of despicable. And John realized much too late that he had unknowingly walked right into their trap. On his own accord. He hadn't even stopped once to consider that this might actually be some sort of set-up. The thought had never crossed his mind. Because he had never actually considered that Aswangs were anything more than barbaric creatures that killed simply to cull their appetites. But they had outwitted him and now he was going to pay the price.

And to make it even worse, he had intentionally brought Sammy with him.

The realization that he had gone from hunter to hunted in a mere matter of seconds, caused John to alter his perspective. Survival became his only objective. If not for him, at least for Sammy. Because, come hell or high water, there was absolutely no way that John was going to let the Aswangs get anywhere near his youngest son. No matter what it took.

And as their predicament sunk into his mind and like the cornered animal that he had become, John took an instinctive step backwards to distance himself from the murderous creatures. In doing so, he almost ran into Sam who had maintained his position directly behind him.

His eyes never straying from the trio of predators, John calmly whispered, "Sammy…on my count, we're going to start moving very slowly to the side of the truck. Stay behind me and keep your back pressed firmly against the truck. Don't provide them with any opportunity to grab you from behind. You're going to climb into the cab and lock the doors. Then make as much noise as you possibly can. Honk the horn. Rev the engine. Anything. Just make enough racket that you'll be able to draw some attention this way. And no matter what happens, stay in the truck. There won't be anything you can do about it. And it will be out of your control. Do you understand me?"

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. He was terrified and his father's words only succeeded in increasing his anxiety. He had never heard his father to talk like that and Sam knew that he must have believed that their situation was just short of hopeless

Still, Sam managed to spit out a very small, "Yes Sir" in response.

John inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed on the Aswangs. "Good…now, on the count of three we move together…One…Two…"

"Dad?"

"Not now Sam," spat John forcefully.

"But Dad…I've still got the gun. I can shoot it. I know I can. I'll be able to take down one of them. Just give me a chance."

"No Sam," barked John. There was no way he was going to put his injured son in the middle of a gunfight. Not when they were outnumbered. And not when their foe had the upper hand.

But so far the Aswangs hadn't moved, remaining only a few feet away.

Waiting.

John knew they were waiting for him to make the first move. Because that's what all successful predators did. And he also knew that once he made his move, there'd be no second chances.

"Three."

John took a short, quick step to his right and Sam fell right in behind him. They watched nervously as the Aswangs tensed. Their bodies moving only slightly. Their senses heightened. Watching. Waiting. Ready.

Ready to move in for the kill.

John's second step brought him to the corner of the truck's box. He could feel Sam's small body behind him, aware that the sling on Sam's arm was rubbing against his back. John felt Sam adjust his grip on the pistol that he held. He heard the click of the gun as Sammy cocked the hammer, knowing that he would keep it trained on the Aswangs for as long as it took them to get him into the truck.

But with every step their quarry made, the creatures stirred, moving marginally forward, mimicking each stride in order to maintain control. They were patiently stalking them. Biding their time. Silently waiting until the time was right. When victory would be inevitable.

John took another step, bringing him completely around to the side of the truck. Taking care to mirror his father's movements, Sam was able to keep his body concealed behind John's big frame. Although he was completely shrouded from a direct assault, Sam kept the pistol aimed in the direction of the Aswangs just as his father was doing. Both Winchesters were poised and ready in case the creatures attacked.

Because they both knew it was only a matter of time.

But, as John once again stepped closer to the cab of the truck, the Aswangs held steady. They didn't move but remained hovering only a few short feet away. Their bright eyes never blinked; tirelessly surveying their prey. Their razor-sharp teeth shined like polished daggers against the blackness of the night. They were indeed a fearsome sight.

John was aware that they were preparing to attack. Their change of tactics meant that they were getting ready to finish the hunt. They would strike quickly and efficiently. Surrounding them to reduce the chance of escape. For these creatures were seasoned hunters and failure was not an option. Only success would guarantee their survival.

John knew he had precious little time to get Sammy safely into the truck.

As he cautiously shuffled his foot one more time to the side, the Aswangs pounced, moving together in perfect synchronicity. In the blink of an eye they had successfully encircling their prey. One flew swiftly over the back of the truck, positioning itself behind them. Another sped past, only to come to an abrupt halt beside the passengerdoor while the third Aswang swooped forward, closing the gap that had existed between them and effectively blocking any and all avenues of escape…


	37. Chapter 37

John tensed and leaned marginally backwards in a completely instinctive attempt to protect Sam from the three Aswangs. They were surrounded by blood-thirsty killers, with no feasible means of escape. The two of them were, at this moment, cut off from the rest of humanity, and entirely alone. With no means of salvation. John's gun was filled with rock-salt and, although there was enough in the chamber to kill one Aswang, there wasn't enough rock-salt to destroy all three of them. Or even to effectively maim them.

If he tried to disperse his ammunition amongst the three predators, John knew that he would only succeed in pissing them off. Really pissing them off. And Sam only had one bullet in his gun; a gun that John had given him _in case_ he needed it. In case he was forced to shot it. _If_ they ended up in a dangerous situation.

Not in an impossible one.

But, impossible or not, John was determined to safely extract Sam from it. Unharmed and in one piece. All he had to do was get Sam into the cab of the truck. Then, with Sam completely removed from the equation, the three Aswangs would concentrate solely on him. He knew they would because they were opportunists. They would take advantage of any opportunity that arose. And they wouldn't possibly pass up on the chance to attack one single, vulnerable human. Regardless of his size, age or familiarity with their species.

Besides, they had sought him out. The Aswangs had set this trap. And they weren't likely to abandon it. Not until they had accomplished their goal to eliminate the threat he posed to them and their survival. And that objective would only be obtained with his death. They knew it and John knew it. And, he also knew that if the Aswangs could take down one - or both - of his sons with him, then it would prove to be an even sweeter kill.

But that wasn't going to happen. Not while he was still alive. And not even over his dead body.

Because he would die protecting Sammy. But he had no intention of dying until Sam was out of danger. He would draw his last breath defending his son. And, as much as he felt a slight tinge of regret that Dean wasn't here to provide much-needed assistance, John took comfort in the fact that he was also safely out of harm's reach. And, if fate determined that he was to die tonight, John knew that Dean would always be there to look after Sam. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

So the only thing remaining for John to do was to get Sam safely into the truck. And to do that, he had to get rid of the Aswang that was currently blocking the passenger door. Both he and Sam were still facing the rear of the truck, staring directly at the Aswang that was hovering beside the tailgate.

John knew that he was standing so close to his youngest son that it made it impossible for Sam to alter his position. So Sam's only option would be to shoot that Aswang when John gave him the order. And as long as Sam kept his wits about him and ensured that his aim was accurate, the silver bullet from his gun would kill that predator. Which would leave John to deal with the other two.

It had been no more than a few seconds since the Aswangs had surrounded them. But they had yet to strike. For they were waiting. Enjoying the thrill of the hunt. Prolonging the inevitable. And savoring the moment. Because it was obvious by the gleam in their luminescent eyes that they were taking immense pleasure in their quarry's predicament. And fear.

But John's fear was not for himself. For he cared little about what happened to him. Or to how he would ultimately meet his end. He had always known that it was entirely possible that one day he would meet an adversary that proved to be a far more skilled hunter. And that could very well lead to his demise.

And, if today was going to be that day, then so be it.

But Sam was not going to suffer the same fate.

At least not today.

John hastily swallowed his concerns and fears for his youngest son, because he knew that as long as they remained foremost in his mind, he wouldn't be fully focused on his mission. And that would be their downfall. So with a sweeping glance at the three Aswangs, John sprang into action. He quickly pivoted his torso to his left, swinging the gun around in conjunction with his body. Maneuvering the gun until the barrel pointed directly at the Aswang that was blocking the truck door, John squeezed the trigger.

As the compacted rock-salt burst from the muzzle, John shouted roughly, "NOW SAM!"

At his father's command, Sam fired his gun. When the Aswangs pounced, he had readjusted his aim to target the sole remaining Aswang at the rear of the truck. As the shot rang out, the earsplitting reverberation echoed in the night air and Sam could just barely make out his father's almost indiscernible order to drop to the ground.

Sam squatted obediently while he chanced a fleeting glance at the Aswang he had just shot. The creature had recoiled backwards into the darkness before it came to a halt about fifteen feet away. Sam could vaguely make out the Aswang's silhouette in the darkness and were it not for the high-pitched squeal that emanated from its throat, Sam would have been positive that the bullet had completely missed it mark. But as he warily observed the bereft Aswang, its erratic movements betrayed the fact that it was critically injured.

The forlorn creature twisted and turned, trying desperately to counteract the effects that the silver bullet was having on its body. The bullet had penetrated the heart muscle and nothing the Aswang did could neutralize the consequences. As the bullet tore through its heart, the muscle began to deteriorate, sizzling slowly as it pulled back from the deadly silver compound. With the bullet firmly embedded inside it, the Aswang's heart began to die, killing the creature with excruciating pain as it decayed.

The creature clawed fervently at its chest, all thoughts of the hunt now eradicated from its mind. With its death imminent, the creature let out one last desperate howl before it succumbed to its injuries and sank heavily to the ground. Upon impact with the ground, the Aswang's body exploded, sending tiny pieces of bloody, petrified flesh reeling through the air.

Sam winced, closing his eyes forcefully as the disgusting matter splayed across his body and he lifted his cast to cover his face.

Meanwhile, as soon as John spun and fired his gun, the Aswang that had been positioned directly behind them, flew forward and whacked the barrel of John's gun viciously with its tail. But John had a firm grip on the gun and he maintained his hold on it. He forcefully jerked his arms backwards, attempting to regain control of his shot and ensure that at least some of the rock-salt hit its intended target. In spite of his efforts, most of the rock-salt sprayed haphazardly through the air with only a few residual pieces pelting the annoyed creature in front of him. Thankfully there was enough rock-salt remaining in the chamber for John to be able to take another shot.

But John's biggest advantage had been lost when the Aswang had unceremoniously deflected his initial shot. His course of action had been revealed and the creatures knew exactly what he was planning to do. And now they were ready for him.

And Sam was out of ammunition.

And still in harm's way.

John's second shot came immediately on the heels of the first. Although this shot wasn't as well-aimed as the first one, he still managed to deliver it with amazing accuracy and precision. The rock-salt hit the Aswang squarely in the torso, rocking it backwards and away from the truck door. John could smell the creature's flesh burning as the rock-salt seared its skin. But there hadn't been enough rock-salt to seriously hurt the Aswang and it simply blinked before it once again fixed John with an irate stare.

With the rock-salt spent and the gun useless, John heaved it vehemently at the second Aswang, which lithely maneuvered out of its path. But in the time it took for both creatures to recover from his assault, John grabbed the gun from the waistband of his jeans and without hesitation, leveled it at the first Aswang that was once again encroaching on the passenger door. John immediately let off a series of rapid-fire shots.

John knew that the bullets in the gun wouldn't kill the Aswang, but he needed a deterrent; something to keep it away from the door, so he could get Sammy safely inside. But as the Aswang effortlessly avoided the flurry of bullets, the other Aswang hurriedly advanced toward John. Swinging his arm sideways, John discharged the remainder of the ammunition at the creature to halt its progression. But both Aswangs were agile, experienced hunters and John's assault did little to dissuade them, only succeeding in slowing them down momentarily.

But John was now defenseless. His ammunition gone. His weapons useless.

He stepped forward assertively, using the pistol as a staff and brandishing it wildly in front of him as he reached for the door handle to open it before one of the creatures was able to barricade it again. But, in doing so, John left Sam exposed.

As he flung the door open, briefly stemming the first Aswang's approach, the second creature dove straight for Sam, stopping directly in front of him. It grabbed Sam's left arm with its back leg, its claws tearing easily through the material of both the sling and Sam's shirt before they penetrated his skin. A gush of blood sprayed from Sam's arm as the Aswang tightened its grip and pulled him forcefully forward. Despite his best efforts to suppress it, an excruciating scream escaped from Sam's throat, filling the night air with a horrifying chill that washed over the fading echoes of his father's gunshots.

As the Aswang forcibly dragged Sam toward it, John spun around in a vain attempt to retrace his steps. But he was too late. He had left Sam unprotected and now the Aswang had him firmly secured in its clutches. John leapt forward to try to overtake the creature but just as he launched himself toward it, something wound tightly around his leg and yanked it violently out from under him. As he hit the ground with a fierce jolt, John realized that his leg had been ensnared by the Aswang's tail. He struggled futilely to free himself from its clutches but the creature had an omnipotent hold on him and it hauled him roughly backwards.

John hurled the gun at the Aswang that was holding his son captive, but in his encumbered position, the throw lacked both the required velocity and intensity and the weapon struck the creature's body with little consequence. John watched in horror as the creature lifted Sam off the ground, pulling him closer and cradling his now limp body in a triumphant display of possession before it ascended slightly into the sky in order to make its escape.

John knew he had to act fast. His only chance of saving his son was to use the knife that he had strapped to his leg. He stopped struggling against his captor, choosing instead to let it drag him effortlessly toward it. As he slid to a halt underneath the Aswang, it relaxed its hold on him, obviously confident in its victory.

But John wasn't defeated yet. Now directly beneath the behemoth, he twisted his body around and sat up to reach for his knife. Caught offguard by its quarry's movements, the Aswang took a millisecond too long to react. John brandished the knife with the dexterity of a skilled swordsman, slashing the razor-sharp blade across the creature's tail and slicing it in half.

As the Aswang recoiled against the assault, John spun sideways and hurled the knife at the other Aswang, catching it just under the breastbone. The creature shrieked and leapt backwards but it wasn't enough for it to relinquish its hold on Sam. There was fury in its eyes as it remained glowering at John, seemingly undecided as to whether it should retaliate for the attack or ignore him and make off with its captive.

But. by now the other Aswang had recovered from John's onslaught and had vaulted forward. It seized him around his ribcage and mercilessly dug its powerful claws into his skin. John groaned against the unbearable pain as he struggled tempestuously to free himself from the Aswang's death-grip.

Satisfied that John no longer posed a threat, the second Aswang backed off. Content to let its partner deal with seemingly defeated hunter. With a final smug look at the eldest Winchester, the creature swooped backwards in a renewed attempt to take off with its young human prize.

Suddenly, a multitude of gunshots blasts rang out as Dean emerged from the box of his father's pickup truck, firing steadily at the Aswang before it had a chance to take off with his brother. Before he jumped up from his hiding spot, Dean had expertly sighted the creature and the well-aimed volley of bullets struck the Aswang dead centre in its chest. As it reacted to the unexpected attack, the Aswang dropped Sam, his unresponsive body jolting brutally as he landed on the ground with a sickening thud.

But, for now, he was free. And Dean could focus his attention on his father.

Dean turned and emptied the remainder of the bullets in the magazine at the Aswang that was holding John. It too was caught by surprise by the appearance of the young hunter and, in its initial shock, released John from its grip. As the last of the bullets from Dean's gun hit the unsuspecting creature, Dean glanced quickly at his father before he tossed him a revolver into which he had loaded a single silver bullet.

"DAD! THIS"LL KILL IT!" yelled Dean hastily. Then he hurriedly loaded another clip of ammunition into his gun.

John grabbed the revolver that Dean had thrown to him and spun it around in his hand in order to utilize it against the Aswang. Just as he wrapped his finger around the trigger, the creature lashed out with one of its powerful front paws, swiping him heavily across the jaw. But it was too late. John pulled the trigger just before he lost consciousness due to a combination of the powerful blow to his head and the poison seeping into his body. But he had targeted the Aswang carefully and the bullet shot forcefully into the creature's chest. The mortally-wounded Aswang lurched backward before it succumbed to its injuries; its body bursting into a million miniscule pieces as it hit the ground.

The sole surviving Aswang remained hovering just out of reach as it watched its co-conspirator lose its battle against the two humans. But it failed to notice that Dean had reloaded his gun and when a fresh barrage of bullets flew toward it, the creature realized that the conflict was lost. It lurched backwards and disappeared silently into the night sky.

Dean continued to sight the creature as it flew away, firing his gun until the clip was empty. When the ammunition was spent, he slowly lowered the gun.

It was then that he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"FREEZE!"

Dean ceased his movements, standing stock-still and waiting.

"DROP THE GUN."

Obeying the order again, Dean let the weapon fall from his hand. The gun bounced on the floor of the truck's box, creating an eerie echo in the sudden stillness of the pitch-black night.

"Now put your hands behind your head and slowly get on your knees."

Complying explicitly with the sheriff's order, Dean laced his fingers behind his head and prudently sank to his knees.

'_Fuck. What does that man have against me?'_


	38. Chapter 38

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see the sheriff venturing closer, moving cautiously as if he didn't quite trust him. Sheriff Durham held his gun at shoulder-level, keeping it aimed steadily at Dean as he advanced. Dean smirked at the absurdity of the situation: an armed, seasoned law enforcement officer apprehensive of a vulnerable, unarmed teenager.

Then again…Could be he was just being careful.

But probably not.

As the sheriff came up behind him, Dean chanced a quick look over his shoulder, anxiously requesting, "You gotta let me go check on my brother. See if he's okay."

"Sorry, Son. I don't gotta let you do anything."

Sheriff Durham holstered his gun while he cupped his free hand over Dean's hands, securing them firmly in place. As soon as he had put his gun away, he grabbed his handcuffs and slapped them roughly around Dean's wrists.

"But my brother's hurt. You hafta let me help him."

"Ohh…You've been all the help you're gonna be for a while," declared the sheriff firmly. Yanking Dean forcefully to his feet, the sheriff stated, "You just can't seem to stay outta trouble, now can you, Son?"

"It's not what it looks like," responded Dean bitterly, as he struggled to acquire his balance.

"Well, for your sake, I hope it's not," shot back the sheriff with a slight hint of compassion in his voice. "Because, from what I could see, you're in a whole lotta trouble right now."

"Story of my life" retorted Dean cynically, "Especially in this stupid town." As the sheriff spun him roughly around Dean looked directly at him and asked disdainfully, "You didn't happen to see what was really happening, did you?"

"You mean other than you shooting at your father and brother?" came the audacious reply.

"Why the hell would I shoot at them?" responded Dean irritably as the sheriff pushed him vehemently toward an approaching deputy. "I was trying to help them."

"Yeah, I bet," replied Sheriff Durham contemptuously. Addressing the deputy, he ordered gruffly, "Put him in the backseat of my cruiser. And stay with him." With a quick glance at Dean he added, "He's a tricky one."

"Only when someone pisses me off," murmured Dean angrily under his breathe, "Or gives me a hard time."

The deputy seized Dean's shirt collar and led him none too gently toward the sheriff's car. As the deputy swung the door of the sheriff's car open and forced him inside, Dean could see the roof lights of two ambulances lighting up the night sky and heading in their direction. And if their screeching sirens were any indication, they were in one hell of a hurry to get here. Dean's apprehension grew as the ambulances got closer. He'd always hated the sound of sirens from any type of emergency vehicle; had ever since the night his mother died. Something about them always brought back the painful memories of that night and filled him with dread. Of course, the fact that they were now coming for his father and Sam only succeeded in increasing his anxiety.

Not that his father was going to be pleased about the ambulances showing up either.

But…he was the one who had brought it upon himself. Just like it was his fault that Sammy had gotten hurt. So, all in all, it served his father right that he was going to end up in the hospital trying an answer a million questions about what had happened and what he had been doing.

Not that Dean's current predicament was any better.

Dean watched helplessly from the back of the sheriff's car as the ambulances pulled up and stopped where his father and brother's prone bodies still lay on the grass. A duo of paramedics jumped out of each ambulance and rushed over to them. As they proceeded to administer medical assistance to his family, Dean's mind slipped back to the events that had lead up to this moment…

_He had dashed down the stairs until he had reached the main floor of the hospital. He exited the stairwell only to see his father standing behind Sam's wheelchair in front of the Emergency Desk at the far end of the corridor. There was a nurse kneeling at Sammy's feet, obviously doing a terse inspection of his brother before they would let him leave. Dean had swallowed the urge to run over there and tell them not to – under any circumstances - let his father take Sam out of the hospital, choosing instead to turn in the opposite direction and run out the door at the far side of the building. _

_As soon as he exited the building, Dean ran around to the parking lot in search of his father's truck, knowing that, as long as he got there before his father did, hitching a ride on the truck would be the easiest – and fastest - way to get to Brewer Park. Due to the fact that it was the middle of the night, the parking lot was practically empty and it didn't take him long to spot the truck. Dean sprinted to the vehicle, keeping a careful lookout for any signs of his father as he scurried across the parking lot. _

_Dean leaned over the side of the box and looked into it, hoping there'd be something lying in there under which he could conceal himself. At the front of the box, just underneath the back window, lay a crumpled tarp. With a fretful, hurried glance toward the Emergency Exit of the hospital, Dean climbed over the tailgate and scampered across the box on his hands and knees to keep himself out of sight. Just behind the driver's seat and directly in front of the tarp sat his father's large toolbox – the one where he kept all the excess weapons that they used on their hunts. _

_Determining that it might be prudent to have a weapon before they got to the park, Dean discretely reached up to try to open the lid. It was locked and Dean regretfully realized that he didn't have anything that he could use to pick the lock. He glanced quickly around the floor of the box, hoping to find something he could use to pick the lock but before he could find anything useful, he heard his father's gruff voice telling Sam to hurry up._

_Realizing that his father would be there any second, Dean dove under the tarp and pulled it overtop of himself as fast as he could. Just as he settled beneath the canvass, he felt the truck rock as his father swung the driver's door open and heard him yell at his brother again. Listening to the heated exchange between Sam and his father incited Dean's anger over the whole situation once again and it was all he could do not to jump up and confront his father about it right then and there. But Dean knew that if he did that, his father would be angrier at him for disobeying him and sneaking out of the hospital than he was at Sam for being slow. And that he'd just order Dean to get out of the truck before he took off without him. So, based on that, Dean decided that his best course of action was to ignore both the argument and his own misgivings about the situation and stay hidden where he was._

_When they arrived at their destination, Dean remained hidden under the tarp while his father and brother got out of the truck. He was just about to uncover himself and let them know he was there, when, as he peeked cautiously out from underneath the tarp, he saw the three Aswang flying noiselessly toward the truck. Without any type of weapon to thwart them, Dean knew he couldn't possibly do anything to prevent the ambush on his father and brother so he decided to remain hidden under the tarp. He watched despondently as his father pulled a gun out of the toolbox and nonchalantly handed it to Sam, without having any inkling about the danger they were in. Dean felt his heart skip a beat as he watched Sam turn around and come face to face with the three Aswangs._

_Knowing instinctively that his father would focus on getting Sammy safely away from the danger, Dean quickly analyzed the ensuing scenario. He deduced that his father would attempt to get Sam back into the cab of the truck and that, the three marauders would try to stop them once they figured out what he was doing. Then they would surround his father and brother - right before they readied themselves for the kill. _

_But with the three Aswangs currently hovering at the back of the truck, Dean knew he had no other option than to stay where he was. Right now no one else had any idea he was there. And that was by far their biggest advantage over the Aswangs. Even if he didn't have a weapon. Because Dean knew that his father would stop at nothing to protect Sam. So, if he bided his time wisely, his father would eventually engage the three Aswangs in battle and that would be when he'd be able to get his hands on a gun._

_Once his father initiated his defense, Dean figured that the Aswang's attack would begin to deteriorate. They'd be forced to adjust their strategy as his father fought back and their carefully-laid trap would slowly fall apart. Because most predators weren't used to their quarry staging a defense, let alone being able to mount an effective one._

_But as smart as the Aswang had been in laying this trap, they still didn't know the Winchesters. Not at all. And that was going to be their downfall._

_Dean was completely on edge during the entire time it took his father and brother to disappear around the side of the truck. He nervously studied the Aswang as they stalked his father and Sam, keeping a close eye on them right up until the point when the creatures suddenly flew in and surrounded them. _

_Dean heard his father's gun fire, followed by the order to Sam to shoot. He watched in morbid fascination as the creature that his brother had targeted, fragmented into miniscule bits of putrefied flesh. While that predator had been successfully eliminated, Dean knew his father was waging a fierce, yet losing battle against the other two and the time had finally arrived for him to make his move. He flung back the tarp and crept as stealthily as he could to the toolbox._

_Thankfully, his father had not had a chance to close the lid before he had been confronted by the Aswangs and Dean was able to secure a semi-automatic pistol on his first reach into the toolbox. He continued rummaging inside it until his hand came into contact with what felt like an old revolver at the bottom of the box. Seizing the gun and verifying his assumption, Dean yanked open the bottom drawer of the toolbox which was where the spare ammunition was kept._

_Doing his best to ignore the mêlée that was ensuing at the side of the truck, Dean hastily grabbed a magazine clip for his pistol and inserted it into the gun before he searched through the drawer, looking for a silver bullet. The old revolver would only provide his father with one shot and Dean had to ensure that it would be a fatal one._

_With both weapons loaded, Dean tucked the revolver in the front of his jeans. Then he crawled to the side of the truck and guardedly looked over the side at the ongoing conflict. Dean was immediately horrified to discover that one Aswang had Sam's immobile body held tightly in its clutches and that the creature was preparing to take off with him. Keeping the creature securely in his sights, Dean emerged from the truck's box amid a barrage of gunfire, aiming accurately at the unsuspecting Aswang…_

The sudden ear-piercing blast of the ambulances' sirens forced Dean out of his reverie and he watched despairingly as the two ambulances raced off down the road at full speed before they disappeared from sight. The surreal glow emanating from the roof lights of the ambulances had momentarily illuminated the surrounding area and a feeling of utter devastation washed over Dean as the abhorrent pools of blood became visible on the ground where both his father and brother had lain only moments before.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to eradicate the image from his mind. He felt completely helpless and entirely overwhelmed. He had to somehow get out of this mess and get to the hospital to check on his family. But as long as the sheriff thought that he was responsible for what had happened to them, Dean knew that he wouldn't be going anywhere quickly. Except maybe to the county jail.

He didn't see any easy way out of his situation. Or any difficult way either. He was handcuffed in the back of the sheriff's car, the doors locked with an armed deputy standing just outside the window. And he knew that the sheriff didn't trust him. And he certainly didn't seem to like him very much either. And, if that was the case, he certainly wasn't likely to believe anything Dean might tell him. Especially if it sounded as far-fetched as telling him the truth would. Yet Dean couldn't think of anything other way out of this mess. There just didn't seem to be any plausible explanation for what had just transpired other than to tell the truth to the sheriff.

And that might just result in him getting a free ride to the closest mental hospital.

Dean glanced back at the activity that was occurring at the side of the road. A menagerie of people had arrived with various types of instruments and gadgets that Dean assumed were to gather evidence of the alleged crime while other law enforcement personnel were busy condoning off the area and securing the scene. And there was the sheriff, standing dead centre of it all, obviously overseeing the entire investigation.

Great.

As Dean sat despondently in the back of the cruiser, the sheriff suddenly turned and headed toward the car. He was about ten feet from the car when he stopped and summoned the deputy he had left guarding Dean over to him. After a brief conversation, the deputy proceeded over to the ongoing flurry of activity in the middle of the crime scene and the sheriff wandered over and quickly got into the car.

Without any type of acknowledgement to his young prisoner, the sheriff pulled away from the scene and drove off in the direction of the sheriff's station. Neither occupant of the vehicle spoke as the car progressed across town. They were only a few minutes from the station when the sheriff inexplicably turned onto a side road.

Dean watched suspiciously from the backseat as the sheriff drove the car further away from the main street, turning onto a multitude of back streets until he finally eased the vehicle to the side of the road and stopped the car. After putting the cruiser into park, the sheriff turned around and leaned over the backseat, staring intently at Dean. Dean warily looked back at him for a moment before he dropped his gaze and looked out the window.

Satisfied that they were far enough away from prying eyes, the sheriff abruptly spoke, "Care to tell me what was going on back there? What you and your family were up to?"

Dean glanced quickly at the sheriff before he looked away without offering an answer.

Sheriff Durham sighed. "Look, I've done some checking into your family and I've noticed that you often end up in trouble spots. Places where unexplained deaths have been occurring. Seems you crisscross the country without any real purpose. Showing up every now and then on the police radar. I want to know what that's all about."

Dean looked back at the sheriff and shrugged. "I dunno what you're talking about. I just go wherever my Dad takes us."

Sheriff Durham smirked briefly before he tried again, "Okay. How 'bout telling me what happened in Lawrence. How your mother died."

Dean glared at the sheriff, not even bothering to mask his displeasure at the sheriff's intrusion. "She died in a fire. I was four years old. What the hell do you expect me to be able to tell you about it?"

"Maybe what really happened that made your father sell his garage and leave town. Why you and your family have been on a disorganized cross-country journey ever since then."

"Her death really shook him up. I guess he just hasn't recovered from it."

Sheriff Durham sighed and rubbed his hand across his brow as he tried to figure out how to best deal with the overly-antagonistic teenager in the backseat of his squad car. Looking sympathetically at Dean, he stated frankly, "I know this might come as a shock to you, but I really am trying to help you. I know there's something going on that you're not telling me and I won't be able to help you unless you do. And right about now, you're in desperate need of my help."

When Dean didn't respond, he continued, "I know your father was in the Marines. I researched his service record. It's impeccable. And I doubt a man of his caliber would suddenly turn into a cold-blooded killer after his wife dies and drag his two young boys all over the country while he searches for victims. I'm pretty sure there's more to it than that. I think he knows something. And that's why your family moves around as much as you do. And why the mysterious deaths usually stop after you leave the area. And, based on the series of deaths that have recently besieged this town, I think that's what brought you and your family here. And why your father said he can't leave just yet."

Dean eyed the sheriff suspiciously before he quipped sarcastically, "Sounds like a good idea for a TV show. You might be in the wrong line of work."

Ignoring Dean's sarcasm, the sheriff said, "Look Son, I saw that large arsenal of guns in the toolbox in the back of your father's truck. And, just so you know we're on the same page, I closed the lid and locked it before I let anyone else get near the truck. I have the key in my pocket. And I know you weren't shooting at your father or brother and, seeing as there was no one else in the area, I want you to tell me exactly what it was that you were shooting at."

He paused, hoping that Dean would tell him something. But when the young man refrained from speaking, the sheriff continued, "There was an assault on a young woman tonight. A couple of hours before the one in the park. I know you and your family had nothing to do with those because you were all at the hospital when the attacks occurred. But, with the timing of your arrival in town and the strange circumstances at the park tonight, your involvement might look pretty convincing to a jury."

Dean glared at the sheriff; he hated being threatened. But it wasn't just him that Sheriff Durham was threatening. It was his whole family. So Dean took a deep breath, still unsure how much he should trust the sheriff.

With the mild hint of indecision in his voice Dean said, "There's some kind of creature preying on the inhabitants of this town. We're trying to stop it. That's all."

"A wild animal?"

"Not an animal. A creature."

"What kind of creature?"

"I dunno," lied Dean, still leery of telling the whole truth, "But we have to stop it before it kills anyone else."

"What else do you know about this 'creature'?" queried Sheriff Durham warily.

"Just that there's more than one of them. And they tried to kill my father and brother tonight. And if I hadn't been there, they probably would have succeeded. But now both my Dad and my brother are in the hospital and those things are going kill someone else unless you let me go after them."

"I don't think so," responded the sheriff with a slight shake of his head. As he turned back to the front of the vehicle and started the car, he added "And until I can get a better picture of what's actually going on, I'm putting you under lock and key. In a jail cell. Right where I can keep an eye you."

"That's gonna help this town so much," mumbled Dean miserably before he asked, "What are you gonna hold me on?"

"Take your pick," replied the sheriff bluntly. "Could be anything from assault and battery, vandalism, carrying a concealed weapon, attempted murder. The list goes on and on." He glanced at Dean in the rearview mirror. "But for now, I'm just gonna throw you in a cell while I go to the hospital and talk to your father."

"Fantastic."

Dean thought about leveling with Sheriff Durham; trying to bring him around to his point of view. Trying to make him realize that someone else was going to get hurt if he didn't let him go. But he figured there'd be about as much chance of that happening as there was of being nominated Citizen of the Year in this stupid town. He'd never be able to convince the sheriff that he could actually be of any help. The man just didn't seem to like him. And obviously thought he was nothing short of a pain in the ass.

Of course, the feeling was kinda mutual.

It only took a few minutes to complete the ride to the sheriff's office. Sheriff Durham pulled the cruiser up to the backdoor of the station before he got out and dragged Dean roughly inside. Without saying a word, he stopped just outside a vacant cell, yanking open the small door and briskly escorted Dean inside. Pushing him face first into the wall, the sheriff callously removed the handcuffs. Sheriff Durham then exited the cell and swung the metal door shut.

Glancing at Dean through the bars on the door, the sheriff stated resolutely, "Don't try anything. Ya hear me? You just sit tight until I can sort this whole thing out. Otherwise, you're gonna be in a whole pile of trouble. And I don't think you have too many other friends in this town."

Turning around and observing the sheriff coldly, Dean responded curtly, "Yes Sir," while he gently rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs had been.

After securely locking the cell door, the sheriff turned and walked out the same door he and Dean had come in only a few moments earlier. Dean watched him leave before he plopped himself down on the wobbly bench that was the only excuse for a place to sit in the drab little cell.

As the echo of the closing door faded, Dean looked around. There were two cells in this part of the station, the other located directly across the corridor. Like this one had been before the sheriff unceremoniously dumped him into it, the other one was empty. And just past the exterior of the two cells was a heavy steel door that apparently led into the outer part of the station. Where the interrogation rooms and the sheriff's office and front desk were.

Not really believing that he'd be able to find anything, Dean nonetheless scoured the interior of his prison looking for any viable means of escape. It was either that, or just sit there listlessly and wait. And that option certainly wasn't very inviting. At least looking for a way out would help pass the time.

The sound of the door at the end of the corridor opening jolted Dean back to reality. Watching out of boredom, Dean observed a deputy ushering a middle-aged man through the door. Judging by his appearance and the noticeable inability to walk in a straight line, Dean hazarded a guess that the man was drunk. Hopefully they'd put him in the cell across the way so he could sleep it off there. But Dean watched in dismay as the deputy stopped directly in front of his cell door and opened it with his keys.

Tossing the man into the cell, the deputy cast Dean a rather amused look and stated, "Brought you a cellmate," before he shut the door and locked it again. He turned to leave and chuckled, "You boys play nice now" before he disappeared through the steel door.

The new prisoner lurched forward before he caught himself and slowly straightened up. Gone was his drunken demeanor of only a few moments ago. He turned to face Dean, a sly smile on his face. With a quick glance toward the door that was the only thing separating them from the main part of the station, the man advanced toward Dean. As he stepped in front of him, the man crouched down, seizing the bars on either side of Dean's shoulders with his big hands and looked him directly in the eyes.

Dean hadn't moved. He didn't know what was going on. And he didn't know why this drunk was so interested in him. But one thing was certain. He wasn't going to let the man intimidate him.

But as Dean boldly met the man's menacing glare, he noticed something unusual. His reflection in the man's eyes was upside down.

And that meant that the man had to be…

An Aswang.


	39. Chapter 39

"I had him," stated the man maliciously, fixing Dean with an icy stare. "He was mine. And then you showed up and ruined it all."

Dean glared at the man as the stark reality of his words bore mercilessly into the dark recesses of his mind. This was the Aswang that had snatched Sam at the park. The Aswang that had held his younger brother firmly in its clutches and attempted to abscond with him.

The one that he had stopped just in the nick of time.

And, as that abhorrent realization threatened to overtake every decent ounce of being in his soul, Dean's indignation escalated mercilessly. His body tensed. His nostrils flared. His teeth clenched. His heart pounded. His eyes narrowed. Yet his gaze never faltered. And his callous, steely-eyed stare vigilantly scrutinized the man's face. And at the same time, his revulsion and hatred for the repugnant life-form in front of him grew.

Because _this_ _man…this creature…this supernatural abomination…_had undoubtedly intended to take his brother's life.

As Dean scowled angrily at him, the man sneered, "Just a moment longer and you would have been too late to save him. Too late to stop me from taking him. From finding someplace secluded where I could have slowly and meticulously extracted everything that I desired from his body. And enjoyed his agony as I watched him die. As I devoured every succulent organ in his body. And ingested all his blood. Until I left him lifeless. His small body desiccated and drained. A mummified version of the child he used to be."

As the Aswang wickedly taunted him, Dean's anger intensified. The man was gloating about killing Sam. Making it sound as if he had actually succeeded. Even though they both knew he hadn't.

But he wasn't going to be gloating for much longer.

"You didn't kill him." rebutted Dean fiercely. "And you won't ever get another chance. Not as long as I'm around."

"Then I'll just have to kill you first."

"Take your best shot," challenged Dean, rage permeating his reply, "'Cause you're coming with me."

Dean lashed out, thrusting violently against the man's shoulders in an effort to make him release the bars and knock him away. But the Aswang was strong and Dean's attack barely scathed him. He effortlessly maintained his position and held stalwartly to the bars all the while continuing to glower at the incensed young man in front of him.

Undeterred by the ineffectiveness of his assault, Dean reached behind him and seized the Aswang's wrists. Lunging backwards, Dean wedged his body tightly against the bars of the cell in order to create some space between them before he lifted both his legs and kicked the Aswang squarely in the chest. The impact sent the Aswang lurching backwards and it lost its grip on the bars. As he tumbled roughly to the floor, the man seized Dean's shoulders and dragged him off the bench. Caught firmly in his opponent's grasp, Dean hastily repositioned his hands to the man's forearms and tried to push himself away. But the humanoid Aswang held tight and the two combatants landed brutally on the floor. Dean crashed heavily on top of the man before he was able to plant his knees firmly on the ground and propel himself away.

Rolling quickly out of his foe's reach, Dean sprang agilely to his feet. He spun around rapidly only to discover that his adversary had also risen from the floor. The two warriors circled each other cagily as they prepared themselves for battle. But neither fighter was in a hurry to challenge the other and they cautiously eyeballed each other as they circumnavigated the small cell, slowly closing the gap between them. As the seconds ticked slowly by, it began to look like the standoff would persist indefinitely. Until, finally, the Aswang leapt vivaciously at Dean.

Dean easily sidestepped his opponent and, as the man rushed past, Dean grabbed his arm. He swung him roughly around and propelled him viciously into the opposite wall. But the Aswang was dexterous and skilled and he spun around swiftly. Bouncing easily off the wall, he vaulted forward with a boomerang effect. The man's instantaneous resurgence caught Dean off-guard and he was unable to avoid the impact of the man's body into his. Knocked backwards, Dean struck the wall with a heavy thud and was unable to avoid the uppercut that vehemently collided with his jaw.

The force of the blow pounded Dean's head into the wall and he was momentarily blinded. But with a quick shake of his head, he regained his focus just in time to see the man throw another punch toward his head. He ducked just in time to avoid the punch which caused the Aswang to briefly lose his balance. As his foe struggled to regain his stability, Dean lambasted him with a brutal jab to his abdomen.

The man responded by swinging his fist astutely at Dean's torso. But Dean pushed himself off the wall and successfully evaded the blow. Spinning around, Dean deftly slammed his right fist into the Aswang's ribcage just before he landed a ferocious left hook to his opponent's temple. Momentarily dazed, the man buckled sideways and Dean swiftly kneed him in the abdomen.

But, before he could lower it, the Aswang grabbed Dean's leg and flung it upward. Powerless to stop himself, Dean smashed violently to the floor, landing brutally on his back. The Aswang quickly lunged downward and knelt heavily on Dean's chest. He clutched Dean viciously around the neck with one hand, constricting his fingers tightly while he raised his other arm in order to deliver a savage punch to Dean's skull.

But Dean managed to deflect the Aswang's blow before he began to feel lightheaded as his airway became increasingly blocked. But he had no intension of succumbing to the Aswang's assault and he jabbed wildly at the creature at the same time as he lifted his knee and struck him forcefully in the posterior. The blow jolted the Aswang forward and he released his grip on Dean's neck. But he remained seated on Dean's upper body and he snagged both of Dean's wrists before he could acquire a chance to swing again.

The Aswang indomitably lowered Dean's arms to the floor and stared evilly into his eyes as it altered its position to completely sheath its captive's body. Firmly imprisoned beneath his enemy, Dean watched in morbid fascination as the man slowly metamorphosed into its animal form. The man's odious, mocking eyes mutated alarmingly into luminescent sphere-shaped cat eyes while sleek, black fur crept steadily over its entire body. Gone were all its previous humanoid features as its body progressively transformed into the svelte, muscular shape of an omnipotent, feline predator. Dean eyes widen in adjunct terror as his nemesis' human face effervesced into a rounded, catlike muzzle and sharp, daggerlike fangs emerged in its now-snarling mouth.

Within minutes, the Aswang's hands had transmuted into strong, sinewy legs and the completed transformation was reminiscent of a ferocious, oversized Cheetah. The beast's razor-sharp claws dug brutally into Dean's skin where the man's hands had held him firmly to the floor and with the increase in both its size and weight, Dean realized he had no chance of escape.

A guttural growl emanated from the depths of the creature's throat as it crouched closer to Dean. It tilted its head slightly, preparing to sink its acuminate cuspids into the tender skin around its victim's jugular vein. In an entirely reflexive movement, Dean lowered his chin to protect his neck from the creature but the Aswang was not deterred. It maneuvered its head under Dean's chin, nudging it easily out of the way and opened its mouth wider as it initiated the deadly mastication.

Suddenly a powerful shot rang out, shattering the silence that had just recently encompassed the entire cellblock.

The creature swayed sideways, liberating Dean from its ruthless hold as it staggered off him. It struggled to regain its composure and salvage the kill. But the bullet that had penetrated its body was doing far too much damage and the Aswang weaved despondently on its feet before it fell harshly to its side.

Dean jumped up and backed steadily away from the creature even though he recognized the tell-tale effects that a silver bullet was having on the Aswang. With the doomed creature wallowing helplessly in its painful death-throes, Dean turned away, mindful of the final outcome. As he shielded his face with his arm, the Aswang burst into minute fragments, blanketing the surrounding area in bits of rotting carrion.

The battle over and the Awang eliminated, Dean carefully lowered his arm to wipe the rancid debris from his shirt before he looked in the direction where the shot had originated.

As the young man finally turned to face him, Sheriff Durham asked almost nonchalantly, "Care to tell me what that thing was?"


	40. Chapter 40

"_That,_" stated Dean emphatically, "Was what I was trying to kill at the park. Right before you arrested me."

Ignoring the young man's last remark, Sheriff Durham asked somewhat impatiently, "And what exactly would _that _be called?"

Dean looked at the sheriff and took a deep breathe. Still unsure whether he should tell him the truth or not, Dean finally relented, "It's called an Aswang."

"A _what_?"

"An Aswang. It's the creature we've been hunting. The creature that's responsible for killing all the residents of this town. And the thing that almost killed my father and brother earlier tonight."

"And you."

"Yeah…" agreed Dean reluctantly, "And me." Realizing that he undoubtedly owed the sheriff his life, he added hesitantly, "And…umm, by the way…thanks."

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, the sheriff looked questioningly around the cell block and queried, "How'd it get in here anyway?"

"Your deputy brought it in. 'Course it just looked like a regular drunk then. Aswangs only take animal form when they hunt…" Dean gave a diminutive shudder at the undesirable memory, "And…eat." Taking a few steps closer to where the sheriff stood just outside the cell door, Dean asked bewilderedly, "What made you come back?"

"Just a hunch," replied the sheriff nonchalantly with a shrug. "Given your uncanny ability to get into trouble now matter where you are, I just had a feeling that tonight probably wasn't going to be any different. Even if you were locked up in a jail cell. Figured it'd just be safer if I kept you with me."

"Safer for who?" inquired Dean with a mixture of both wonder and amusement at the sheriff's answer.

"You, for starters. But with the way things seem to be going tonight, I'm sure there are other things that should be safeguarded too. And…uhh…with all the strange things I've witnessed in the last couple o' hours, you're probably in a much better position to tell me exactly what they are." The sheriff inserted the key in the lock on the door, but before he attempted to open it, he looked cynically at Dean and asked, "You're gonna behave, right? You're not gonna give me any trouble?"

"No Sir," stated Dean in his most angelic voice. And, for once, he didn't even think about crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Good," stated the sheriff astutely as he opened the door and grabbed Dean by his arm. Guiding him out of the cell he commented, "I have to let the deputy know that I'm releasing you. Tell him it was all just a case of mistaken identity and that I'm takin' you home." With a sideways glance at Dean he ordered, "So do us both a favor and keep your mouth shut until I get you outta here."

Sheriff Durham led Dean down the short corridor and through the heavy steel door into the main part of the station. As they walked up to the front desk, the deputy manning the office turned toward them.

"What are you doin' with him?" asked the officer.

"Takin' him home," stated the sheriff without bothering to offer an explanation.

"But…isn't he a suspect in those shootings at the park?" inquired the deputy warily.

"No," replied Sheriff Durham curtly. "Turns out he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And seeing as we have no reason to hold him, I'm just gonna take him home before I go check on the victims at the hospital. See if I can get a better idea about what really happened at the park."

"I can take him home if you just want to go straight to the hospital."

"No," declared the sheriff authoritatively, "I need you to stay here and watch the station until Steve gets back. I left him in charge of the scene at Brewer Park." Almost as an afterthought he added with a slight grin, "And keep an eye on the drunk you brought in earlier too. I don't think he's in very good shape." Without waiting for a response the sheriff turned and headed for the front door, dragging Dean along with him.

Sheriff Durham steered Dean out the front door before he let go of his arm. Motioning with his head, the sheriff indicated that he wanted Dean to follow him around the side of the building. They walked steadily to the back of the building where they quickly got into the sheriff's cruiser and drove off in the direction the hospital.

Once they were settled in the car, Dean turned to the sheriff and asked quizzically, "If you didn't know what kind of creature the Aswang was…how'd you know how to kill it?"

Glancing quickly at his passenger, Sheriff Durham shrugged, "I didn't. I took a guess based on the evidence I found at the park." Seeing Dean's perplexed expression at his response, the sheriff explained, "I grabbed the gun that was in your father's hand so no one else would see it. And that's when I saw what looked like a silver, hand-forged bullet lying on the ground beside him. I figured that the bullet must have been for the old revolver and that your father had tried shooting it at something just before he lost consciousness. So I took the liberty of loading another bullet into the gun before I locked up the toolbox. And then I thought it might just be a good idea if I brought the gun with me until I could figure out what's been going on."

"Good call," conceded Dean reflectively. ""Cause it saved my life."

"Hey!" responded Sheriff Durham mischievously. "Ya think I just got to be sheriff because of my good looks?"

Dean smirked. Maybe the two of them were more alike that he had originally thought.

"So," voiced the sheriff, abruptly changing the subject, "Tell me a bit more about these Aswang creatures."

Dean sighed. He didn't know how much of the truth he should tell the sheriff. Dad had always warned them against telling the truth. Insisting instead that they make up a story that at least sounded plausible. Something that didn't sound too far-fetched and made sense long enough to get people – especially law-enforcement officers – off their case. Because the truth was usually just too unbelievable. And much too hard to explain.

But, then again, this man had just killed a huge, winged cat. And watched it explode into a million itty-bitty pieces.

So how the hell was he supposed to make _that_ sound plausible without telling the truth?

Dean inhaled deeply. "They're creatures that are actually very similar to vampires. Except, unlike vampires, they mutate into animals in order to kill."

"Vampires?" reiterated the sheriff in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that that thing I killed back at the station was something akin to a vampire?"

"Well, feel free to believe what you want," suggested Dean unobjectionably. "But what other explanation do you want me to give you that will explain that pretty little kitty back there? The one that was trying to kill me? The one that exploded into a gazillion little pieces as soon as you shot it?"

"I suppose," conceded the sheriff tentatively. "But it just doesn't sound very believable. Or realistic."

"Which would be why I never told you about it before," mentioned Dean brusquely. "I knew you'd never believe me. Because you'd never seen it. And wouldn't believe that it was real. And, now, even though you've killed one, you're still having a hard time believing the truth."

Recognizing the reality in the young man's words, the sheriff pushed aside his skepticism and inquired, "You and your family encounter these creatures a lot?"

"Not Aswangs. This is actually our first run-in with them."

"You mean to tell me that there are other things out there other than just them?"

"Yeah," confirmed Dean stoically. "Most of the creatures from legends, fables and horror stories all have some sort of basis in fact. And most of them exist in some form or another."

Taking a moment to consider what he had just been told, the sheriff remained silent while he mulled over the information. Finally, he queried hesitantly, "And that's what you and your family do? Hunt down these creatures and kill them?"

"Well, Dad mostly. I help him out when he thinks it's too dangerous to hunt alone. And Sammy…well…he's just kinda learnin'. He only tags along on hunts if we really need an extra hand."

Dean felt very uncomfortable telling the sheriff about his brother's involvement in their family's business. And although he'd never really stopped to think about it before, he realized that their particular brand of hunting probably wasn't a particularly good pastime for a thirteen year-old. Or a safe one either. At least in the eyes of 'normal' people. And, seeing as Child Services had already investigated them once in this town, he didn't want to inadvertently provide them with another reason to dig deeper into their family. And even though the sheriff was acting like he was their friend, that didn't stop him from alerting the proper authorities if he thought that a child might be in danger. And hunting supernatural creatures could certainly qualify as putting Sammy in danger.

And, Dean realized begrudgingly, it put him in danger too. Even though he was seventeen. In the eyes of the law he was still a minor. And that fact could very well make some overzealous social worker decide they had to look out for him too. And that could lead to both him and Sammy being taken away from their father.

Or, worse yet…being separated from each other.

Dean glanced nervously at Sheriff Durham. He was really hoping that he'd satisfied the sheriff's curiosity about the Aswangs and he'd just let the matter drop. It would be better if he waited to speak to his father anyway. Then Dad could tell him whatever he wanted. And he wouldn't give him shit for opening his mouth and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.

"So, I was right," remarked the sheriff casting a sideways glance at Dean, "About your family investigating strange deaths all over the country."

Dean opted out of responding. To do so might just open a whole new can of worms if he acknowledged it.

"Which also explains your father's population protection work," continued the sheriff, more to himself than to Dean. "And also why he said he couldn't leave town just yet."

"_His what_?" asked Dean in bewilderment.

"Population Protection work," replied the sheriff, as he pulled the cruiser in front of the hospital and put it into park, "That's what he said brought him to town when I asked him about it earlier this evening."

Dean stared at the sheriff with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment as he got out of the car and walked around it only to stand on the sidewalk beside Dean's door and waited for him to get out of the car. Then the two of them walked into the hospital with the sheriff taking the lead. As soon as they were inside, the sheriff marched authoritatively over to the admissions desk while Dean hung back a bit, not overly anxious to be recognized from his visit earlier in the evening.

Of course, the fact that he still decked out so handsomely in a hospital-gown-turned-into-a-makeshift-shirt just made that fact all the more noticeable.

As Dean waited for the sheriff, he looked casually around the waiting room, hoping, on the off chance, to see his father or brother sitting there. But the first thing he noticed was just how full the waiting room actually was. For a town this small, it seemed as if everyone in this town knew someone who was sitting in the waiting room. Based on the look of some of them, some people were obviously waiting to see a doctor. Others seemed to be waiting for family members. While still others were waiting with family members.

Like Mrs. Leavey.

Who happened to be the second thing he noticed. And who was what caused him to duck hastily behind a snack machine. Before he peeked out cautiously from behind it to check out the situation. Mrs. Leavey was sitting in a chair, reading what appeared to be a well-read magazine. And sitting right beside her was her lovely son, Rick. And Rick was staring intently at the TV on the wall. Scrutinizing him intently, Dean realized that he didn't look so good and that he must be one of the ones waiting to see a doctor. Sitting there with his Mommy. And, in spite of himself, Dean felt a small sensation of pride stir inside him at the notion that Sammy had inflicted whatever injuries the little bastard had.

And he so obviously deserved each and every one of them. And had for a very long time.

Content that neither one of them had seen – or recognized – him, Dean turned back around to look for the sheriff. As he spun around, he came face to face with…

His father.

"Dad…"

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked John in confusion.

Without skipping a beat, Dean offered, "I'm a patient. Remember?"

"Yeah, one who snuck out a couple of hours ago if I recall. Against a direct order too."

Avoiding his father's gaze, Dean replied timidly, "Sheriff Durham brought me back. Figured it would be safer if he kept me with him."

"Safer for who?"

"That's exactly what I asked him."

Just then the sheriff strolled over and quickly addressed John, "Mr. Winchester, the nurse at the desk informed me that, against medical advice, you didn't want to be admitted."

"No," stated John bluntly as he turned to face the sheriff. "I'm fine. It's just a couple of flesh wounds."

"Flesh wounds that were severe enough to make you lose consciousness long enough for an ambulance to bring you here," pointed out the sheriff pungently.

"It's nothing that I won't be able to handle on my own," replied John curtly, hoping to dispel more questioning.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," agreed Sheriff Durham lightly. "In fact, I'm sure you're had a lot worse in your line of work. I doubt you come out unscathed very often."

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," replied John, meeting the sheriff's gaze keenly.

"Let's just say that I know why you're here. And why you won't leave town just yet," asserted the sheriff. "And, uhh…While I'm thinkin' about it…Here's the key to your toolbox." Handing the key to a now, very perplexed John, he elaborated, "The one in the back of your truck."

John didn't respond as he guardedly took the key from the sheriff, instead glancing quickly at Dean who simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Because now it was his father's turn to deal with the sheriff and his questions.

And Dean was going to enjoy every minute of it. Because it wasn't often that he got to watch his father squirm. And this was so going to be worth all the crap that he'd been through in the past week.

But before the conversation could continue, Dean noticed Mr. Leavey coming down the hall in their direction. He was still far enough away that he didn't think that the man had seen them. But it wouldn't be much longer before he did.

With a sharp nod of head, Dean uttered, "Uhh…I think maybe we should get outta here. Looks like a bit of trouble could be heading our way."

Sheriff Durham looked over his shoulder and without hesitation, set off to meet the advancing deputy-mayor before he ventured any closer. But as he walked hastily away, the sheriff said, "I'll meet you both in Room 218. That's where your other son is."

John placed his hand on Dean's shoulder to gently guide him in the direction of the elevators. Before he got into the elevator, John glanced down the hall at the sheriff and Greg Leavey, noting that the sheriff had discretely repositioned himself so that he was facing their direction and the deputy-mayor had his back to them.

As the elevator door slid shut, John looked suspiciously at Dean and asked, "What does he know?"

"About what?" asked Dean innocently.

"About what happened at the park."

"I'm not really sure," replied Dean. "But he saw enough to decide to arrest me."

"You're under arrest?" asked John incredulously.

"Not at the moment. But I was."

"For what?"

"He never really got around to addressing the charges," remarked Dean. "Said he was coming here to talk to you first. So he could figure out exactly what was going on."

When the elevator got to the second floor, the door opened to reveal that Sam's room was directly across the hall. Without bothering to wait for his father, Dean dashed out of the elevator and ran into Sammy's room. Standing right beside the bed, Dean looked down at his sleeping brother.

Sammy didn't look so good. He looked so small and helpless lying in that bed. A blanket was covering his body and tucked neatly under his arms and around his chest. He was dressed in a pale-blue hospital gown but only one of his arms had been inserted into it; the rest of the gown lay diagonally across his chest and went underneath his armpit, leaving his injured shoulder and arm exposed.

Fighting to keep his composure at the distressing sight of Sam's injuries, Dean continued staring intently at his brother. And he kept noticing all the things that were wrong:

Sam's skin was ashen. And that just made the cut on his cheek look worse than it already did. And that reminded him of Rick. Which reminded him of Robin. Because he was the one who had let his brother do that to Sam. And that thought burned into Dean's mind and started to make him mad.

There was a bump with a fair bit of bruising around Sam's hairline. Dean wasn't sure if that was a result of the fight with Rick, the car crash or the Aswang attack. But it made him even madder because, however it had happened, it would have ultimately been Robin's fault. Or his father's.

The fingers on Sam's right hand were swollen and bruised where they were protruding from the cast. That was obviously a result of the fight with Rick, which also increased Dean's ire.

And there was a long, deep scratch extending across the back of Sam's other hand. Undoubtedly caused by the Aswang earlier tonight. And that would be Dad's fault. Which pissed him off even more.

And a large gauze bandage was covering Sam's exposed shoulder. The one that had been dislocated twice already. And based on the blood that had soaked through the bandage, Dean realized that it had to be covering a wound that had also been made by the Aswang. Probably when it tried to take off with Sam as its meal. And Dad was to blame for that one too.

And the result of all his brother's injuries made Dean want to explode. Or hit someone. Anyone at all. Anyone who was responsible for what had happened to Sammy.

So, without really thinking about it, Dean whipped around and lashed out angrily at his father who was standing quietly behind him. Pushing his forearms violently against his father's chest, Dean spat, "Look what you did to him! Look how much he's hurt because you just had to take him on that stupid hunt!"

Initially unprepared for Dean's attack, John recovered rapidly and seized Dean's arms as he pushed them into his chest. Lifting them up over Dean's head, he quickly twisted them around, spinning Dean with them. John quickly lowered his arms, pinning Dean against him with his arms crossed tightly over his torso.

But Dean hadn't dispelled all his anger yet. And his mind was completely clouded by resentment and frustration. He was irrational and enraged; like a wild animal acting solely out of impulse. And he struggled fiercely against the hold in which his father held him. He tried buckling forward to free himself at the same time as he lifted his foot to kick his father in the shins.

But John had taught both his sons all of their moves. And he knew instinctively what Dean was going to do. He swung his leg forward, knocking Dean's foot harmlessly to the side before he slowly bent him over the bedrail and kicked his son's legs apart in order to render him harmless.

"Dean. Stop. Before I hurt you. Because I can, you know,." John breathed quietly but determinedly into his son's ear.

"Let me go," replied Dean through gritted teeth.

"I will. Just as soon as you calm down. But not a minute sooner."

It took a few moments, but eventually John could feel Dean begin to relax and the tension disappear from his body. When he felt that his son had calmed down sufficiently, John eased up his hold before he grabbed Dean's shoulders and spun him roughly around to face him.

Holding Dean firmly in front of him, John asked, "What was that all about?"

Anger still lurching in the back of his eyes, Dean stated agonizingly, "Sammy. He's hurt because of you. You took him with you on the hunt. And he wasn't in any shape to go." Staring closely at his father, Dean added heartbreakingly, "And you knew that."

John's gaze faltered and he released his hold on his eldest son until he was once again standing on his own two feet. He knew Dean was right. He'd known it all along. Even before he took Sam out of the hospital. Before they'd gotten to the park. And before he handed him the gun.

But he'd ignored all his instincts. Pushed them aside and buried them. All because he'd wanted to stop the Aswang from killing anyone else. He had put a stranger's life ahead of his youngest son's safety. And almost gotten him killed in the process.

It was a mistake he wasn't likely to make again.

And one that he'd never forget.

"You're right, Dean, I did. And I'm sorry," apologized John contritely before he persisted, "But I can't undo it. And I don't need you to point it out to me."

"Well, who else is gonna?" snapped Dean irately. "'Cause I don't see anyone else around here looking out for him!"

John glared at his son. Then with an air of finality, he declared, "That's enough Dean. It's over. It won't happen again."

John stepped away from Dean and moved closer to Sam's bed. He noticed that Sam was awake and watching them. John wondered how much of their exchange he had witnessed but decided against bringing it up.

"Sammy," John uttered quietly as he approached the bed. "How ya feelin'?"

"I'm…"I'm okay," replied Sam hesitantly. "What…What's goin' on?" he asked glancing nervously between his father and brother.

"Nothin'" injected Dean lightheartedly, as if the argument with their father had never happened. "Just a little disagreement between Dad and I."

"Yeah…About me," remarked Sam.

"Not everything's about you, ya know, Kiddo," chided Dean playfully.

"It is if it involves you two arguing," muttered Sam unhappily under his breathe.

But before either Dean or John could reply, a doctor strode briskly into the room; it was the same doctor who had tended to Dean when he had been brought into the hospital earlier that night.

Walking up to Sam's bed to check on his young patient, the doctor immediately recognized Dean. Giving him a quick once-over, he stated, "So this is where you are. You've given the nurses quite a scare. They're looking all over for you. Even called in Security to help find you"

"I just came down to check on my brother," offered Dean by way of an excuse.

Taking note of the young man's attire and disheveled appearance, the doctor nonetheless replied, "Well, the nurses would have brought you down if you'd just asked." Looking briefly at John before returning his gaze to Dean, the doctor reprimanded, "And you shouldn't have taken your IV out either."

"Maybe not," retorted Dean. "But it wasn't doin' me much good."

But the words were no sooner out of his mouth, when Dean began to feel dizzy. And nauseous. Taking a deep breathe to steady himself, Dean tried to find a chair where he could sit down until the dizziness passed. But the only chair he could see was on the other side of the bed. Much too far away for him to try to get to. So, as the effects of the Aswang poison slowly overtook him yet again, Dean casually leaned against the bedside table, hoping that it would provide him with enough support until he could shake off the vertigo.

But the table was on wheels. And it wasn't pushed all the way against the wall either. So as Dean leaned against it, the table shifted backwards before it shot out rapidly to the side, away from Sam's bed. His meager means of support gone, Dean lurched violently backwards. He tried to stop himself from falling by grabbing onto the bedrails but as soon as the table spun out to the side, Dean lost all his balance and collided with the wall, knocking his head brutally against it and immediately losing consciousness.

Both John and the doctor rushed over to the now-prone teenager. But they were too late. He was completely sprawled out on the floor. And out cold. The doctor checked his pulse while John carefully lifted his head and cradled it in his lap.

"I'd say he's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up," claimed John as he looked somewhat amusingly at the doctor."


	41. Chapter 41

John spent the better part of the next two hours persuading the doctors that it would be best for everyone involved if they would just move his two sons into the same room. It took him a long time to convince them that, if they actually expected Dean to stay anywhere in the vicinity of his own bed, they'd simply have to put that bed as close to his brother's bed as they possibly could.

At first they had scoffed at the entire notion, figuring that John simply wanted to make it easier on himself by not having to run all over the hospital to check on his boys. After all, since when does a seventeen-year-old adolescent want to spend any length of time in the same room as his thirteen-year-old brother? Especially when they're both injured and confined to their beds. How many seventeen-year-olds would actually choose to be that close for that long to one of their siblings?

That had been the bulk of their argument until John pointed out that his eldest son - who just happened to be the seventeen-year-old they were talking about - had successfully avoided being detected for well over an hour while they searched the entire hospital (which really wasn't that big) looking for him. And all he'd done was to sneak out of his room and wander downstairs to be with his brother.

And why would he do something like that?

Because, he obviously _wanted_ to be with his brother. No matter what anyone else thought. Or said. And he didn't want to run the risk of having someone tell him that he couldn't go see him. Or that he'd have to wait. Nor did he want anyone telling him how long he could stay. Or harping on him that he needed his rest too and that sooner or later he'd have to go back to his own room.

Instead, he'd simply taken matters into his own hands and strolled down to the second floor all by himself. Without even bothering to mention it to anyone. Or asking for permission. And, just so he wasn't encumbered by that awkward IV line and pole, he'd decided to remove it. Because, without it, he was free to come and go as he pleased. Which made it much easier for him to stay out of sight and avoid being detected too.

And even though they now knew where he would be the next time he went missing and wouldn't have any trouble finding him, that didn't mean that they'd be able to get him to go back to his own room. Especially considering that it was an entire floor above his brother's room. And, if he did go back, they certainly wouldn't be able to make him stay there.

Not unless they were willing to post some sort of guard in his room. And, if they were going to do that, why didn't they just put the two boys in the same room? And save everyone all that trouble. And the ensuing headaches of continually having to hunt down their missing patient.

Because, the only way they would be able to ensure that Dean stayed anywhere near his own bed and followed any sort of medical advice was to put him in the same room as his brother. They'd just save themselves a whole lot of trouble if they would do that. Because Dean just wasn't like most seventeen-year-olds; especially when it came to his younger brother. He was very attentive of him. And extremely protective. John simply couldn't explain it any other way.

You'd really have to know their family history to be able to understand it.

Hell…sometimes John even had a hard time understanding it.

So, in the end, they had relented and moved Dean into the empty bed in Sam's room. And John had heaved a great big sigh of relief. Not only because that meant that the odds were now in their favor that Dean might actually stay in his assigned room but also because he could actually keep an eye on both boys at the same time. And there was also the added bonus that, for the first time in an awfully long time, he was reasonably sure that Dean wasn't likely to get into any more trouble.

At least, not without him knowing about it first.

The entire time that he had been debating his case with the hospital staff, John couldn't help but notice that the sheriff kept poking his head into the room about every ten minutes or so. Which had to mean that the sheriff desperately wanted to talk to him. And John really couldn't say that he was looking forward to that prospect. Even though Sheriff Durham appeared genuine in his willingness to help them, John was still leery of law enforcement officers of any kind. Rank and kindness notwithstanding.

His reluctance probably stemmed from almost thirteen years of doing his best to avoid them. And lying to them whenever the need arose. Which would actually account for the majority of that time. And he couldn't forget the various credit card frauds and fake ID's that usually kept him about half a step ahead of the law. Or just a stone's throw out of their reach.

But for some unknown reason, this man seemed to be sticking to them like glue. Or like bees to a honey pot. And he was just as annoying too. Delving into everything they did. And showing up everywhere they went. He'd even said a few things that made the hair on the back of John's neck stand up too. Things about knowing why he was in town. And why he couldn't leave just yet.

Not to mention the little issue of his toolbox key. The sheriff's words had been dripping with innuendo when he'd handed the key back to him. But he'd simply dropped it into John's hand as if he really didn't have a clue as to what the toolbox contained. And John simply wasn't naive enough to think that was very likely.

He knew that he was going to have to go speak with the sheriff sooner or later. And it wasn't just because the man wanted to talk to him. The truth was that he wanted to talk to the sheriff too. To find out exactly what he knew. Or what he thought he knew.

So the next time the man poked his head into the room, John turned to greet him. "I don't know about you, but I could really use a coffee." Nodding briefly towards the flurry of activity in the room while the hospital staff relocated his eldest son, he remarked, "I don't think they'll be needed me here for a while. Sammy's gone back to sleep. And I doubt Dean'll be waking up any time soon either."

Sheriff Durham nodded and stepped aside so John could join him in the hallway. As John stepped through the doorway, the sheriff announced quietly, "You might be interested to know that the entire Leavey family is currently camped out in Emergency. They're here to get both their boys checked out by a doctor. They want a written medical record of the injuries your sons inflicted on them. I gather they're planning on hitting you with a lawsuit within the next few days. Probably because they know that I'm gonna delay laying any charges until my investigation is complete. But…the good news is, that I don't think they know that your boys are here too. So they won't come looking for them. Or for you. Still, it might be a good idea if we just go to the lounge at the end of the hall and get a coffee out of the machine in there instead of going downstairs to the cafeteria. Wouldn't want to risk the chance of running into them there."

Disregarding all the sheriff's comments about the Leaveys, John responded matter-of-factly, "Sounds good to me" as he followed the sheriff down the hall to the visitor lounge.

The coffee that came out of the vending machine looked like last week's dishwater and tasted almost as bad. But it was hot and laden with caffeine, which was something that John desperately needed. He was tired and feeling the debilitating effects of his earlier tussle with the Aswang. His side was aching where the creature had speared its claws into his side and he was both mentally and physically exhausted. He knew that if he had been a smaller man, he probably would have passed out by now. But the Aswang's poison was designed to render much smaller victims unconscious so it was simply making him tired and weak. But, he'd suffered through worse and knew he could outlast his debility.

Taking another sip of his coffee, John eyeballed the sheriff who had assumed a seat on the couch. John chose to remain standing for the time being as he patiently bided his time in order to let the sheriff begin the conversation.

Sheriff Durham glanced toward the hallway to make sure they were alone before he looked back at John and stated bluntly, "I killed one of those creatures tonight."

John sipped his coffee but didn't respond; he was going to wait and see what else the man had to say. And he didn't have to wait for long.

"If I hadn't killed it when I did, your son would have become its next meal," elaborated the sheriff.

That hit a nerve. And raised his anxiety to a whole new level. But John knew that was exactly what the sheriff had intended. So instead of responding, John fixed the sheriff with a constrained stare and remained mute.

Sheriff Durham settled back on the couch and crossed his legs. He took a deep breathe, never taking his eyes off John. He was having a hard time trying to figure this stranger out. And judging by the man's steadfast demeanor, the sheriff discerned that John was going to be a very hard egg to crack. He hadn't even flinched when he heard that his son's life had been in danger.

But, based on what he now knew, the sheriff realized that this probably wasn't the first time that had happened either.

So the sheriff decided to sit back and play John's waiting game. To try and crack the man's veneer and get a look inside the mind of this maverick in front of him. He had to somehow get John to trust him and fill him in on exactly what happening. Because this was his town and he had a sworn duty to protect all its citizens. But he couldn't do that if he didn't know what was really going on.

And all his instincts told him that John knew.

So, for the next few minutes the two men simply stared at each other, neither of them making any attempt to continue their conversation.

Until finally, John asked diffidently, "Which one of my boys?"

"The oldest one."

"When?"

"A couple of hours ago. About twenty minutes before I brought him back here."

"At the park?"

"No," corrected the sheriff. "At the station. After I threw him in one of the cells and left him there for safekeeping."

John took a seat in a chair opposite the sheriff. He still wasn't sure what the sheriff knew and he wasn't about to disclose the truth to him quite yet. But he knew that he was going to have to find out exactly what the sheriff knew sooner or later, so his next question was pretty much to the point. "What did it look like?"

"Sorta like Tony the Tiger on steroids. Although I doubt it had much interest in eating cereal. Judgin' by the size of its teeth anyways. And how engrossed it was on your son's jugular."

John stared down at his hands, silently mulling over what the sheriff had just told him. When he looked back up at the man, he simply said, "Thank you."

Sheriff Durham scrutinized John's face. He got the impression that the man seldom uttered those words. He looked like a man who was beholden to very few people. That he was used to doing things on his own. In his own way. With little or no help. And he'd probably abandoned hope of receiving much help in whatever he did a long time ago.

Recognizing the heartfelt gratitude in those two little words, Sheriff Durham decided to be candid with John. "Your son told me the creature is called an Aswang. And that you're in town to kill it."

"He told you that, did he?"

John was going to have a very, long talk with his oldest son.

"Yeah, he did," confirmed the sheriff. "And before you go getting' all _I-told-you-not-to-say-anything-to-anyone_ on him, he really didn't have much choice. Left it pretty hard for him to come up with another story after I killed the thing. Using your gun too. With a silver bullet that I took from your toolbox. And, watching the thing explode into a million little pieces right after I shot it, kinda put the nail in the coffin." He stared intently at John and added, "So cut him a bit o' slack. 'Cause there was nothin' else he coulda told me but the truth."

John considered the sheriff's words for a few minutes. Although it didn't happen often, there were times when he did have to confide in people. Because there were times when people found out just because they were there when he killed whatever it was that he had been hunting. Or because he'd managed to save them before they'd been killed by the entity. Sometimes there was just no way around it. Because, regardless of how careful he was, people occasionally found out the truth.

And how they handled their newfound knowledge was entirely up to them. Because the general populace still wouldn't believe them. No matter who they were or what they said they saw. So either they joined the fight and became players just like he had when he'd discovered the truth, or they tried their best to forget it and lived their lives as if nothing had ever happened.

But however they chose to deal with it, John was positive that they were never the same again.

Based on the extenuating circumstances, John decided that this had indeed been one of those times when the divulgence of the truth was warranted. So twenty minutes, and three cups of coffee later, John had told the sheriff everything he knew about the Aswang legend. And the sheriff had, in turn, explained everything that had occurred after John had lost consciousness at the park.

John had to admit that the sheriff seemed to take everything in stride. Better than most people did actually. Not once did he look at John like he might be mentally unstable. Nor did he try to offer up with some other rationalization for what he had seen in a vain attempt to explain it all away. He'd only asked pertinent, intelligent questions and appeared to be eager to learn everything he could about the supernatural.

He only had one question that John couldn't answer:

"Do you think we've killed them all?"

"I dunno," shrugged John indecisively, "But I sincerely doubt it. I don't think that they'd risk all of them coming after me and my boys. Even if they had been confident that they'd be able to kill us without a problem. There's got to be another one of them out there somewhere who's callin' the shots. A leader of some sort. And that's who we hafta find if we're going to eliminate them."

With the truth out in the open, John rose abruptly from his seat. He'd left his boys alone for over half an hour while he spoke to the sheriff and he was anxious to get back to them. Even though they were probably safe as long as they remained inside the hospital, John didn't want to push his luck. Not with the way things had been going lately.

Following him into the hallway, Sheriff Durham queried, "And you're positive these creatures are masquerading as residents of this town?"

"That seems to be their habit. They select their territory and hunt throughout the surrounding area. They just won't hunt too close to their home. They'll go to a nearby neighborhood and claim their victims there. And, if we don't find them soon, there _will_ be more victims."

"So we have to figure out who they are in order to stop them," elucidated the sheriff. Taking deep breathe he declared, "I think I'll go back to the station and find out exactly who that drunk was that my deputy brought in. Once I know who he was, I'll be able to figure out where he lived. And that should lead me to his friends."

"Whatever you do," cautioned John adamantly, "Don't confront them alone." He stopped walking and turned toward the sheriff, "You have to remember they're not human and it won't make a damn bit of difference to them if you're the sheriff or not. The only thing they'll be concerned about is their own survival. And once they know that you've figured out what they really are, you'll be added to their hit list - right alongside me and my boys." He set out walking towards the boys' room again. "Believe me when I tell you that these Aswang creatures are smart. They've managed to thwart me more than a few times already. And injured my entire family in the process. They've laid traps and followed through on their plans. And there's a very good chance they'd make mincemeat outta you if you go after them by yourself."

"Thanks for your concern," stated Sheriff Durham sincerely, "But I know enough about bad-guys not to go after anything dangerous without the proper back-up. And you'd be about the only back-up I'd trust to have with me on this case."

Having reached his destination John stopped, turned once more toward the sheriff and said, "Well, I'm glad for that." Gesturing in the direction of his sons' room, he added, "You know where to find me when you need me."

Sheriff Durham nodded as he shook John's hand. Then, without another word, he headed toward the elevators to make his exit.

John strode into his sons' room and was pleased - as well as a bit surprised - to discover that both Sam and Dean were still sleeping. They needed their sleep in order to rid their bodies of the Aswang poison. But, not wanting to judge anything on appearance alone, he wandered quietly over to their beds in order to get a closer look at each of his sons. Once he had satisfied himself that nothing untoward had happened to them while he was gone, John grabbed a chair and set it between his sons' beds so he could try to get a bit of rest.

As much as John hated including strangers in their business, he had to admit that he was grateful to have the sheriff's help on this hunt. He'd made enough mistakes already. And he didn't want to risk making any more. Both his sons had been hurt by these creatures and he wasn't willing to put them in any more peril. And right now, the sheriff was doing the research that was required in order to successfully track down these awful predators. And he was in a much better position to learn what they needed to know than John was. He had unlimited access to everything and as soon as he gathered the information they needed, John knew that he would come back and get him. Then the two of them could track down the remaining Aswangs and eliminate them once and for all.

With a sigh of relief, John slouched down in the chair and closed his eyes.

He had only been asleep for about half an hour when he sensed an unfamiliar presence in the room. Careful to remain as still as possible, John reached discreetly behind him for the gun that he always carried in the waistband of his jeans. Only it wasn't there; he had lost it back at the park. Or somewhere en route to the hospital. The fact that he was without a weapon marginally increased his anxiety but he remained motionless while he assessed whatever threat the new arrival might present.

In order to maintain the appearance that he was still sleeping, John kept his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. But he was able to inconspicuously survey the visitor in his peripheral vision. He watched intently as the intruder walked a few feet into the room before stopping. And, although his view was limited, he could tell that the person was female and wore the garb of a hospital worker – probably a nurse. She remained standing in the same spot for a few minutes, not moving or making any noise, and John sensed that she was assessing all three occupants in the room. Seemingly satisfied that they were all asleep, she slowly eased the door shut, guiding it gently closed to ensure that it didn't make any noise.

Her baffling movements heightened John's unease but he resisted the urge to reveal that he was actually awake. He bided his time prudently even though he felt that he was probably being overly suspicious and that the woman's actions were nothing more than a precautionary measure to guarantee her patients' privacy while she completed some routine test or procedure.

John continued observing her as she wandered quietly over to Dean's bed. He tilted his head ever so subtly in order to get a better view of what she was doing as she grasped his son's wrist in order to check his pulse before she walked softly to Sam's bed and repeated the same procedure.

John relaxed a bit as the woman went about performing her professional duties and he became somewhat confident that the woman didn't pose any danger to them. But his optimism was short-lived. She lingered insidiously beside Sammy's bed and John began to wonder what medical attention she was bestowing on his youngest son. John was about to raise his head and address the woman when he suddenly noticed that Sam's body had gone completely rigid and he had flung both his hands up to encircle his neck.


	42. Chapter 42

John bolted from his chair, both his warrior and parental instincts instantly evoked. He seized the woman's shoulders to pull her away from his youngest son but he was met with a resistance that confirmed the woman was more than she appeared to be. She didn't move, remaining firmly planted at the side of Sam's bed.

Yet John's assault still managed to produce the desired effect as the woman released her chokehold on Sam. As soon as his airway was freed, Sam inhaled deeply with a raspy gasp that ripped through the silence that had previously encompassed the small room.

The nurse braced herself against the bedrails before she propelled herself around to face John. Her angry, shining eyes cast an eerie glow in the otherwise darkened room and John could barely keep up with the rapidly changing silhouette as the woman's mutation into a supernatural predator progressed. Her physical features quickly lost any resemblance to human characteristics as they transgressed all accepted laws of nature to take on the bestial appearance of the feline enigma that John had come to know so well during the past week and he watched in abject horror as her body augmented in size to morph into the now familiar silhouette of a muscular Aswang.

John knew he had to act before the transformation was complete if he was going to be able to stop the creature from killing either him or his sons. Shoving aside all his ingrained instincts that may have otherwise prevented him from striking a woman, John threw a powerful, well-aimed right hook that caught the unsuspecting nurse squarely in the jaw. Her head snapped backwards and John advanced, hurling another fierce blow into her sinewy torso. As she buckled forward John wrapped his arm tightly around her neck and quickly yanked her into an upright position.

Increasing the pressure on her neck, he pulled her closer to his body, bending her violently backwards. As her air supply diminished, her hands immediately went to her neck and she grabbed John's arms with incredible strength as she strove to regain her footing. Unable to breathe, the nurse frantically dug her fingernails into John's arms and though he was initially oblivious to her assault, John became abruptly mindful of the increased danger she posed as the woman's fingernails transformed into razor-sharp Aswang claws and viciously penetrated his skin.

Grimacing against the pain, John nonetheless upheld the pressure on the nurse's neck. Rendering her unconscious was the only option he had available to him; he couldn't kill her without the proper weaponry. So his only alternative was to effectively immobilize her in order to give him enough time to get his boys safely out of the room.

The woman thrashed violently against her captor as she struggled to catch her breath. But John held firm, even as her body continued to evolve into that of his latest omnipotent foe. But supporting the increasing bulk of the rapidly mutating creature proved to be too much and John lost his balance and stumbled backwards. His fall was halted when he bumped against his eldest son's bed.

Dean was awakened by the combination of the brutal jostling of his bed and the commotion caused by the skirmish. Immediately vigilant, he grabbed his father under his arms to stop him from falling to the floor with the almost completely transformed creature on top of him. John pushed his feet into the floor to regain his balance and, with Dean's help, he was able to stabilize himself. But just as John pushed himself up, the nurse succumbed to the lack of oxygen and her freakish, half-transmuted body fell limp in John's arms. Holding the dead weight of the grotesque creature in his arms John tenuously eased the unconscious creature to the floor. Dean maintained an uneasy hold on his father as he surveyed the surreal scene before him.

"What the fuck…?" Dean began, as he finally got a good look at the half-human/half-Aswang creature that his father had been fighting.

Recovered enough from the brief scuffle John shot his son a stern glare at his choice of language before he stepped over the Aswang's prone body and marched hurriedly over to his youngest son's bed.

Sam had stopped coughing but still lay clutching his throat as he watched the turmoil that had overtaken the room. He was having a much hard time staying awake because, unlike his older brother, he had been given enough drugs to combat the pain of his injuries as well as to help sedate him so he could sleep. Trying desperately to overcome his drowsiness, Sam blinked a couple of times before looking his father.

"Hey Bud," greeted John breathlessly as he gripped the bedrails of his son's bed and swung them downwards as quietly as he could.

"What's goin' on?" asked Sam.

"We're getting' outta here," stated John hastily as he reached across Sam's body and expertly removed the IV line from his son's arm. Applying an even amount of pressure to the small puncture wound that remained, John looked sternly at his youngest son and decreed, "I want you to go with Dean. He's going to take you back to the motel."

"Back to the motel? Why is he taking me back there?" ventured Sam in confusion.

"Because I said he is, that's why."

Recognizing that his father's harsh tone left absolutely no room for argument, Sam fell silent as his father helped maneuver him into a sitting position by placing a hand on his back and hoisting him up. With Sam sitting groggily on the side of the bed, John walked briskly over to the closet and grabbed the bag of clothes containing his youngest son's clothes. Throwing them haphazardly onto the bed beside Sam, John ordered sharply, "Get dressed" before he turned to address Dean who had already managed to slip hastily into his jeans.

"I want you to take Sammy down the stairwell and get out of the building as fast as you can. Don't stop to talk to anyone on your way out. No matter who they are. I'm going to stay behind and make sure no one sees you leaving or follows you." He wandered over to the door and opened it just a crack so he could peer cautiously down the hallway. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, John eased the door closed again and turned back toward his children.

"Uhh…Dad?" questioned Dean hesitantly. "How do you expect me to get Sammy back to the motel? We don't have any wheels here, remember?"

That small - but extremely important - detail had momentarily escaped John's memory and he leaned heavily against the door as he mulled over their latest predicament. It wasn't safe for them to stay in the hospital. He had no idea how long the Aswang would remain unconscious and he didn't have anything with which he could kill it. Besides, if there had been one Aswang masquerading as a nurse, there were probably others. And the more John thought about it, the more he realized that it made perfect sense. Aswangs often held down jobs while they maintained their human forms. And they were innately attracted to blood. So what better place than a hospital was there for them to try to secure a job?

Glancing swiftly back at Dean, John implored, "Didn't I teach you how to hotwire a car?"

"Yes Sir."

"Then find one and do it."

"_Here_? _At the hospital?_" queried Dean incredulously. "But aren't there still cops all over the place? Looking into those attacks at the park? Won't that just increase my chances of getting caught?"

"Dean, they're here to check out the victims in the hospital. Not the cars in the parking lot. And the majority of them will probably have gone home by now."

"But there's still a good chance one of them will see me."

"Just do it, Dean."

"But Dad…"

"_Dammit, Dean_," snapped John, "Stop arguing with me! Just find a car you can hotwire and get your brother back to the motel. We'll worry about the ramifications later."

"That's easy for you to say," quipped Dean apprehensively. "You're not the one they keep trying to throw into jail."

"_DEAN!_" reiterated John in annoyance, "Will you just do as you're told! It's not safe here. You have to get Sammy back to the motel. And as soon as you get there, I want you to make sure that the room is fully protected. Make sure the lines of salt under each window aren't broken and lay down a new one in front of the door. And then neither of you are to leave the room until I get there. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," gulped Dean as he resigned himself to the fact that it would be nothing short of a miracle if he actually made it out of this town without being charged with some crime or another.

John reached into his shirt pocket and removed his pocketknife. Tossing it to Dean, he stated, "Here, you might need this."

"Thanks," answered Dean unenthusiastically. Then he stuffed the knife into his jeans pocket.

Listening half-heartedly to his father and brother bickering, Sam did his best to get dressed on his own. He'd managed to slip his shirt on without much of a problem, although his shoulder had ached tremendously as he'd maneuvered his injured arm into the sleeve. But after he'd put on his jeans, he found that it was next to impossible for him to get them done up. He couldn't get his swollen fingers around the zipper nor could he do up the button. It didn't matter which hand he tried to use. He just couldn't get his pants done up. Frustrated by his inability to finish dressing himself, Sam untucked his shirt and let it hang loosely over the waistband of his jeans. Then he slid his bare feet into his shoes without bothering to bend down, simply scrunching the backs of the shoes down with his heels. And he stuffed his socks into the back pocket of his jeans before he headed reluctantly toward the door.

Walking warily past the unconscious being on the floor, Sam couldn't help but stare transfixed at it. The deformed creature was slowly reverting back into its human form and Sam was mesmerized by the aberrant slight of the transformation. His curiosity got the best of him and he paused beside it to watch as it completed the change.

John noticed what his youngest son was doing and he instantly became alarmed; there was no telling when the creature would awaken. And, if Sam was within its reach when it did, the creature could easily grab him before John would be able to stop it.

"_Sam!_ Get away from that thing! _Now!_" bellowed John as he dashed over to Sam. Placing his hand firmly on Sam's uninjured shoulder, John guided his son toward the door. As soon as they were far enough away for the creature, John lifted his hand from his son's shoulder and scuffed him firmly across the back of his head.

"What the hell were you thinking, standing so close to that thing?" he queried callously. "It's not dead you know."

"Sorry," came the grumpily stated reply.

But Sam sounded more pissed off than sorry. Still John chose to let it go. There were more important matters to attend to at the moment.

Dean had gone over to the door and was opening it slowly. John walked over to him and pushed him lightly out of the way so that he could look down the hallway himself. He opened the door marginally and peaked out; the hall was devoid of all activity so John opened the door wide enough to allow him to exit the room and he motioned for the boys to follow him as he walked cautiously into the hall. As they stepped silently through the doorway he pointed sharply toward the stairwell in the opposite direction of the nurse's station, indicating that he wanted them to head that way and make their exit down that set of stairs.

Trusting their father to watch their backs, the two teenagers raced stealthily to the end of the hall without bothering to check behind them. As they reached the door leading to the stairs, Dean pushed it open, taking extra care to ensure that it didn't make any noise. He stepped into the stairwell and held the door for his brother. Sam followed his brother through the door and immediately headed down the stairs.

Dean eased the door shut before he bounded down the stairs to catch up with Sam, gently nudging his brother to the side so that he could precede him down the stairs. He heard Sam emit an annoyed huff as he walked around him. Dean looked back at Sam and bewilderedly raised his eyebrows.

"I take point and Dad brings up the rear," he stated authoritatively. "You know that. Besides…you're hurt."

"So what?" shot back Sam defensively. He was tired and sore and just wanted to go to bed. And actually get to stay there for a while. "And Dad usually takes point."

"Not this time," replied Dean. "Because this time he put me in charge."

"Only until he gets to the motel. Or until you get arrested. Whichever comes first."

"Yeah? Well, until then I guess you'll just have to do what I tell you to. Got that?"

"And that would be different from any other time he's left us alone, _how_?" snarked Sam.

Dean looked over his shoulder at his brother and smirked, "It's just the natural order of things Sammy. Better get used to it."

"Somethin' else I don't have a choice in," replied Sam angrily.

Ignoring his brother's grumpy comments, Dean signaled for him to be quiet. They had reached the ground floor and Dean looked through the narrow window in the door to check out the activity on the main floor before he opened the door. Not seeing anything to warrant staying where they were, he guardedly opened the door and peeked down the corridor. Other than the usual hustle and bustle that always seemed to occur near the Emergency Department of a hospital, there was nothing out of the ordinary so Dean stepped into the hall and motioned for Sam to follow him. The two boys headed out the same doors where Dean had made his exit a few short hours ago.

As they wandered cautiously outside and leaned against the wall of the building to stay out of sight while they scanned the area for cops, Dean glanced at his brother and joked, "I'm getting pretty good at this. Sneakin'outta hospitals. Now I'm just gonna have to figure out how to do it at school."

"Won't be much of a problem as long as you're suspended," retorted Sam.

"Bite me."

With no law enforcement officers in sight, Dean moved out of the shadows toward the parking lot, making sure that Sam stayed within arm's reach. They increased their speed as they got closer to the parking lot; there was an ingrained feeling of urgency to get as far away from the building as quickly as possible. When they finally made it to the parking lot, Dean ducked quickly behind a large pick-up truck - one that had the chassis raised to accommodate its oversized wheels. Sam quickly fell in beside his brother.

Dean surveyed the parking lot; there were a lot of newer cars that that didn't lend themselves very well to being hotwired and he ruled all those out as his eyes swept over them. Still, there were a few cars that had promise. He just had to figure out which one would be the best.

Then he found it.

Sitting at the edge of the parking lot.

With only one other vehicle close by.

A nice little sporty car.

A couple of years old.

Should be pretty easy to hotwire.

Yep. It'd do just fine.

Slapping Sam gently on his uninjured arm, Dean announced, "Over here" as he set off toward the vehicle.

As they neared the car, Sam recognized it immediately. "You're not seriously considering stealing Robin's car, are you?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Because it's probably not a really good idea."

"Why not?"

"I dunno" replied Sam in annoyance. "It just doesn't seem like such a good idea."

"Aw, come on, Sam. It's a great idea. I mean, who else deserves it more than Robin?"

"Well...it's just that you were all concerned about getting arrested and stuff when Dad told you he wanted you to hotwire a car...and now, you're gonna steal Robin's car. You don't think maybe that'll just lead to more trouble?"

"Prob'ly. But it'll be so worth it. Just thinkin' about the look on that little prick's face when he comes out and realizes his car has been stolen...Well, that's almost enough to give me an orgasm all on its own."

"Dean, you're disgusting, ya know that?"

"And your point is?"

The two boys walked up to the driver's side of the vehicle and Dean glanced inside.

Perfect.

The car had been left unlocked. Dean grinned to himself. Because that was one of the best things about small-town America. The false sense of security that people had. The belief that they were immune to things. Things like theft and other kinds of crimes. Things that ran rampant in big cities. Things that people in big cities protected themselves against.

Things like having their cars stolen.

Dean stood up and turned toward his brother, motioning for him to follow him to the other side of the car. Dean wrapped his hand in the hospital gown he was once again using as a makeshift shirt before he reached for the handle to open the door.

As he swung the door open and stepped aside for Sam to get in, Dean cautioned, "Be careful you don't touch anything."

"Dean, I still don't think this is such a good idea. Why can't we just find another car."

"Dude, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I think I lost it when I dislocated my shoulder the second time this week," sighed Sam, "If I even had one to begin with."

"Well Sammy, you know what your real problem is? You need to lighten up. Learn how to have a bit of fun. 'Cause otherwise life just ain't worth livin'." stated Dean. "And whether you want to admit it or not - _this_ is fun. Hell, it's almost as much fun as makin' out with a really hot chick." Pleased with himself and his analogy, Dean shut the passenger door and walked around to the driver's side of the car.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. Sometimes he just didn't get his older brother. No matter how hard he tried.

With a final glance around the parking lot, Dean climbed into the driver's side of the car, making sure he didn't touch anything in the car that wasn't absolutely necessary. Reminding Sam to keep a sharp lookout for anyone that looked like they might be headed their way - especially anyone that even remotely resembled the Leaveys - Dean jammed the blade of the pocketknife deeply into ignition column. Then he twisted it as hard as he could until he heard the telltale sound of the steering lock breaking.

Now he just had to get the car started. Dean leaned down to look under the dashboard where he expertly pulled out the ignition wires. Disconnecting them from the ignition column, he touched them together in order to start the car. It had taken him less than two minutes to hotwire the vehicle. As he sat upright in his seat, Dean smiled at his brother before he put the car into drive and drove off toward the motel.

They drove into the motel parking lot and Dean pulled into the spot right in front of the door. Before he put the car in park he looked at Sam and said, "Don't get out. Not until I come around and open the door for you."

"I'm not an invalid you know," huffed Sam. "I can open the door for myself."

"I know that, Dumbass. I just don't want you getting your fingerprints on anything. I don't want anyone to be able to trace this back to you."

"You do realize that I have been in this car before'" mentioned Sam exasperatedly. "My fingerprints are probably all over it already."

"Maybe. But I still don't want you to touch anything. And seeing as I'm the boss, you have to listen to me. And I'm telling you not to touch anything. And to wait for me to open the door."

"You know, you're beginning to sound more and more like Dad every day," complained Sam bitterly.

"Yeah, but I'm so much better lookin' than he is."

"Yeah...And a much bigger asshole too."

"Hey! Better watch your language Baby Bro. Or I'll be forced to wash your mouth out with soap."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Don't think I won't."

"What makes you think you'd win?"

"Oh…I dunno…Maybe the fact that I'm _bigger_ than you?"

"Yeah? Well, you won't be for long."

"Says who?"

"Dad. He says I'm gonna be taller than you."

"Yeah? But what does he know anyway?"

"More than you," quipped Sam.

"Maybe," replied Dean with a shrug as he opened the door. "But that doesn't change the fact that he left me in charge. So I still get to tell you what to do."

"Well, I wish that you'd just drop dead."

"Careful what you wish for, Sammy," replied Dean as he got out, "Because it just might come true."

"Then I wish I had a different brother. Or no brother at all."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…You don't really mean that," responded Dean with a grin before he shut the door.

Watching his brother walk around the car, Sam muttered quietly to himself, "Jerk." But the truth was, he hadn't meant it. Not really. He'd just wanted to get under Dean's skin. Because he was tired of being treated like a little kid. Tired of being ordered around. Tired of always being told what to do. Or what not to do. Tired of Dean acting like he was one of his parents.

Truth was...he was just tired.

And his brother's little charade of stealing Robin's car bothered him. Because he was just asking for trouble. And he was in enough already. He didn't need to get into any more.

But that was Dean. Always pushing his luck. And always getting into trouble. And not really caring whether he did or not.

Sam was relieved when they finally made it into their motel room. Now he could get into bed. And go to sleep. Maybe he wouldn't wake up until the next day. Maybe he'd sleep right through until Sunday. And that thought made him feel a whole lot better.

Sam sat down on the bed and watched as Dean grabbed the big bag of salt from beside their father's bed. He didn't say anything as Dean redrew the lines of salt around the windows and in front of the door. As Dean put the bag of salt away, Sam lay down, ready to go to sleep. They were safe inside the room now. Nothing could get in. They'd be okay until their father got back.

Just before he drifted to sleep, Sam heard the door open. Hoping it was his father, Sam glanced toward the door. But it wasn't his father; it was Dean and he looked like he was heading outside.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked sleepily.

"I gotta wipe down the prints in Robin's car.And move it away from the motel Can't just leave it outside the room for someone to find it."

"But Dad told us to stay here."

"That was before he knew we were going to hitch a ride in Robin's car" stated Dean nonchalantly. "Don't worry. I'll be back before you even know it. Dad doesn't even have to know I was gone."

"Maybe I'll just tell him."

"Not unless you want me to kick your ass the next time Dad's not looking," replied Dean before he exited the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John had shadowed his boys as they made their way to the stairwell. He had followed them down the stairs, staying far enough behind them that he'd be able to intercept anyone that might join them in the stairwell. He had watched them as they made their way out of the building, right up until the time they had run over to the parking lot. Satisfied that they were safely out of the hospital, John had returned unnoticed to the boy's room.

Once he was back in the room, he crept carefully over to the still unconscious Aswang. He knelt down beside it and waited until it began to stir. As soon as it opened its eyes, John punched it in the side of the head with a powerful blow. Confident that it would remain unconscious for at least a little while longer, John lifted it up and placed it on Sam's bed, maneuvering it so that it was lying on its side and facing away from the door.

Grabbing the gown that Sam had left on the bed, John ripped it into strips that he could use to tie down the creature. That would give him a few extra minutes once it woke up. He wasn't sure what would happen once the creature woke up and alerted the remainder of its pack that he and his sons had managed to escape yet again. And he still had to find his own way back to the motel.

With the Aswang securely tied to the bed, John left the room. And because he couldn't think of any reason not to, he decided to take the elevators down to the main floor. He was tired and weary. And he'd been scratched again by an Aswang. Which left him even more tired. And he just wanted to get home to his boys as fast as he could.

So taking the elevator down made sense. And saved time. But when the elevator reached the main floor, the doors opened and John came face to face with Greg Leavey.

Hoping that the deputy-mayor wouldn't recognize him, John attempted to walk around him. But just as he got past him, he heard the man address him.

"Well, if it isn't John Winchester."

Damn. Why were politicians so good with remembering faces? And names.

John turned around to face the man.

"What brings you to our little hospital?" asked the deputy-mayor sarcastically.

John didn't answer.

"Visiting your boys, perhaps?"

Still John refused to answer.

"Maybe I should just check with the Admissions Desk and see if they're here," taunted Mr. Leavey. "See if I should call the sheriff and have them arrested."

And that did it. John hauled off and decked the man. Smacked him right in the face. Hit him so hard that he struck the back of the elevator as he fell.

Staring at the unconscious deputy-mayor, John suddenly had an idea. Placing his foot against the open elevator door to stop it from closing, John reached down and felt for the deputy-mayor's keys. As soon as he found them, John checked for the one he was looking for. Finding it amongst the other keys on the ring, John clutched the key ring tightly. Then he turned around and pushed the button to the fourth floor before he stepped out of the elevator and let the doors swing closed.

Heading toward the exit, John grinned to himself and muttered quietly, "Thanks for the lift."


	43. Chapter 43

John had to admit that it always surprised him how stupid people really were. People like Greg Leavey. People who were so caught up in their own self-importance that they misread everything around them. Or didn't even bother to read it at all.

Didn't think they needed to worry about anything. Anything that they thought didn't concern them. Or wouldn't affect them. Everyday things. Mundane things.

Things like him.

And Greg Leavey had obviously misread him right from the start. Hadn't bothered to give him the time of day. Hadn't stopped to realize what a threat he actually could be. If he wanted to be. Or if he was pushed far enough.

No, that thought had never even occurred to the man. He'd thought he was safe up in his ivory tower on Main Street, Nowheresville. Safe from whatever unpleasantries real life could actually throw at him. Safe from the concerns of everyday people.

But, he wasn't. Not really. And the fact that he was about to have his car stolen, just proved that point. And the stupid moron had absolutely no idea that he made stealing his vehicle all the more easy when he had a remote starting device installed on his car. Because, all John had to do to find the car, was to push one silly little button and look for the flashing headlights and zero in on the sound of the motor running.

And, sure enough, there it was. That pleasant little hum of a well-maintained motor purring to a start. And the quick little flash of the headlights as the car came to life. Both of which made the car so much easier to hone in on. Made John's task a whole lot simpler. And made getting back to his boys a cinch. Because, without having to waste any time looking for it, John found the car.

It was sitting midway up the parking lot, just off to one side. Parking there all by itself. With nothing else around. Alone. And aloof. Just like the asshole who owned it.

As John approached it, even he had to admit that it was an appealing enough little car. If you liked those kinds of cars. Brand new. Extravagant. Luxurious. Immaculate. And transparently expensive.

Not to mention one hundred percent impractical.

Well…except for the fact that it was perfectly capable of providing him with a ride back to the motel.

But, other than that, it was a complete piece of shit. Designed solely to impress people. To accentuate just how affluent the owner of the vehicle was. How important he was. Or, more accurately, how important he thought he was. How he was so much better than the rest of society. And his car proved it.

Whatever.

It still suited John's purposes.

He climbed into the car and adjusted the seat. Inserted the key into the ignition and put the car into drive. Left the parking lot and headed toward the hotel.

No problem.

Even a lowlife idiot like him could figure out how to drive an overly-pretentious vehicle like this. Too bad he'd never be able to tell that to Greg Leavey. Might actually knock him down a notch or two. Pull him back to reality.

But, then again, probably not.

The man had his head so far up his ass that he'd never get it out. So John would just have to satisfy himself with the fact that he'd managed to steal the pompous ass's vehicle. Which would have to be contrary to every security and safety feature the salesman had rhymed off as a selling point when he'd sold him the vehicle. Telling him how the car couldn't be hotwired and he'd never have to worry about theft.

Of course, he'd probably never considered the fact that the man was such an unlikable dipstick that he'd actually managed to get himself knocked out and had his keys lifted right out of his pocket. But that scenario wouldn't have been covered by the sales manual. And no one would ever have warned him.

Not that he'd have believed it anyway.

And the truth was that the car had been as easy to steal as taking candy from a baby. Which is more or less all that John had done…

He pulled up to the motel just as the first rays of daylight washed over the horizon. Which meant that there wouldn't be any more Aswang attacks until after the sun set tonight. And then he was pretty sure that all hell was going to break loose.

As he pulled the car into the vacant spot in front of their room, John glanced around, noticing instantly that there were no unfamiliar cars parked in the parking lot. Every single vehicle pulled up to the front of the motel was one that John recognized as belonging to one of the other patrons of this fine establishment.

And that stuck him as rather odd.

And a bit disturbing too.

Because there should be at least one car that John didn't recognize. One car that didn't belong. And that car should be the one that his oldest son had used to get both himself and Sammy back to the motel.

Only there wasn't one.

John wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or worried.

Or just plain pissed off.

Maybe Dean had simply parked it a couple of blocks away and he and Sammy had walked the rest of the way to the motel. But, even as that thought crossed his mind, John didn't think that was very likely. Dean didn't walk anywhere. Not if he had a choice. And Sammy had been hurt. And extremely tired. And Dean knew that. Hell…Dean had even risked getting into a physical altercation with him over his brother's condition. And, under normal circumstances there was no way in hell that Dean would even think about challenging him. But circumstances had been anything but normal and Dean had overstepped his bounds. But there was still no way he would have expected Sammy to walk even half a block to the motel.

Not with how fiercely protective he was of his brother.

So, changes were that Dean had simply chosen to ignore him about staying in the motel. No doubt deciding that he had to get rid of the car as soon as he possibly could. Move it so that it wasn't sitting outside the motel room for everyone to see. And that's why there was no extra vehicle in the parking lot.

Annoyed that his son would once again defy him, John threw the car into park with an exasperated flourish and hastily exited the vehicle. He marched up to their room, grabbed the door handle and turned it vigorously so he could go inside. Except the door didn't open because it was locked.

And he didn't have his key.

The realization that he didn't have his key – or his truck, his weapons, his journal, anything of any importance – caused John to slam his fist heavily into the door. Which made the door jump viciously on its hinges.

He hit it so hard that he scared the crap out of himself.

And, based on the sounds emanating from inside the room, scared the crap out of whoever was inside too.

"Sammy! Let me in!" he barked, just barely keeping his voice below a low roar.

A moment later, John saw the curtain on the window beside the door move. It was Sammy, checking outside to make sure everything was okay before he actually opened the door. Making sure the interloper at the door was really who he claimed to be.

So he was a smart kid.

At least one of his children didn't go out of his way to piss him off every chance he had. Because he was plenty pissed off already. Not to mention tired. And sore.

John heard the chain on the safety latch slide open and the door unlock. But to his amazement, the door didn't open. Instead, John heard his youngest son tell him he could come in from further inside the room. He'd unlocked the door and moved back into the safety of the room. Back to where he'd be protected by the ring of salt.

Which proved once again that he was a really smart kid.

John opened the door and walked in. One quick look around and he verified that Sam was indeed alone. There was no sign of Dean anywhere.

Feeling his anger rising again, John asked harshly, "Where's your brother?"

"I dunno" shrugged Sam sleepily, "He left about half an hour ago. I haven't seen him since."

"Where'd he go?"

Like he didn't already know the answer to that question.

"To move the car."

"Didn't he hear me tell him to stay here until I got back?" snapped John angrily, even though he knew that he was directing his anger at the wrong person.

"I dunno, Dad," came Sam's sullen reply. "I was tired and I went to bed as soon as we got back. I watched Dean redraw the salt lines to protect the room and then I fell asleep. I don't really know why he left."

"Then why did you tell me he went to move the car?" asked John, pointing out the lie that Sam had caught himself in.

Sam sighed. "I woke up just as he was leaving. I heard the door unlock and I thought it was you. But it was him going out. I asked him where he was going and he said he had to move the car. I told him we were supposed to wait for you but he didn't seem to care and he left anyway."

With no means to properly alleviate his anger, John shook his head and took a deep breath to calm himself. There was no point taking it out on Sammy. Especially when he'd known it was going to happen like this anyway. He'd known all along that Dean wasn't going to stay in the room. It had been pretty much a foregone conclusion that Dean would ensure that his brother was safely secured inside the motel room and then he'd go back out and dispose of the car.

Because, with a tinge of dread, John realized that was exactly what he would have done. And the older Dean got, the more he became like him. Thought like him and acted like him. Right up to the recklessness, sarcasm and insolence. John had taught him well.

And Dean had been a willing pupil.

John stared at his youngest son still standing in the middle of the room. Standing there and waiting for him to tell him what to do. Like a good little soldier. Or an exhausted teenager.

"Go back to bed, Sammy."

Sam nodded slightly before he turned and went back to the bed. John was pretty sure he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. John stood and watched him for a minute. Then he decided that the best thing for him to do would be to go and get rid of Greg Leavey's car. Before someone saw it sitting outside and recognized it.

But before he left the room, John double-checked all the lines of salt protecting the various entry points throughout the room. And he even had to admit that Dean had done an extremely good job. Nothing supernatural was going to get inside this room.

Slipping quietly outside, John got back into the deputy-mayor's car and drove cautiously out of the parking lot. Mindful that Greg Leavey had no doubt woken up by now and had alerted the sheriff's office about the assault, John pulled onto the first sidestreet he came to. Then he turned onto the next street and the next one until he was finally satisfied that he was far enough away from the motel for anyone to put two and two together and connect him to the theft.

Except maybe for Sheriff Durham.

But John wasn't overly worried about him. As long as he didn't make it obvious that he had been responsible for the theft of Greg Leavey's vehicle, John was pretty sure the sheriff wouldn't work too hard to tie him to it. Not with everything else that the man had been willing to do for him. And how much he seemed to hate Greg Leavey.

John scanned the neighborhood before he set about wiping down the interior of the vehicle. Then he took the keys out of the ignition and wiped them down before he tossed them underneath the floor mat. There was no point in leaving the keys in the ignition for someone else to come upon it and steal the car. Although that would be a satisfying touch, John knew that it would only incite the deputy-mayor more than he already was and he'd be even more intent on seeking revenge. And that revenge would all be directed at him and his sons.

So, the best thing to do would be to leave the car safe and sound on some sidestreet, just waiting for someone to find it. So they could give it back to its useless owner and let him go merrily on his way. At least as far as his vehicle was concerned. Because he'd still be fuming about the fact that John had decked him and simply walked away. And he'd be pushing the sheriff to charge him with that. So there was no point making it worse.

His task completed, John took one last look around the neighborhood before he got out of the car and wiped down the exterior of the driver's door. Then he set off in a slow run back toward the motel.

And he didn't even sense the sinister figure that had been mirroring his movements from the moment he stepped out of the motel…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean drove the car down the road a couple of blocks before he turned onto a residential street. Well…calling it residential was kind of like calling the motel they were staying in the Hilton. But, there _were_ houses on it. If you could call them that. Because they were more like sheds that someone had decided would be acceptable to live in. But it was probably as good a place as any to dump the car. And the unsavory characteristics of the local populace would help draw attention away for him.

Which was always a good thing.

Especially with the way things were going in this town.

So Dean drove the car deeper into the dilapidated district. By the time he had reached an area where he felt comfortable leaving the car, he realized that he was probably a good mile from the motel. If not further. But that didn't really bother him. Other than the fact that it would take him at least fifteen minutes to get back. And that was before he wiped down the car.

It wasn't the time it was going to take to get back to the motel that bothered Dean. It was the fact that Sammy would be left all alone during that time that left him second-guessing his decision to leave the car so far away. As he debated whether or not he should take the car closer, Dean realized he was just wasting time. Time that could be better spent actually doing something.

So he hastily obliterated all his fingerprints, even wiping the cloth across the ignition wires he had pulled out of the dashboard to get the car started. Because you just never knew how crafty police investigators could get. Even in a small town. Satisfied that he had removed any trace that he had been inside the vehicle, Dean got out and glanced up and down the road before he started back towards the motel.

As Dean raced through the decrepit area, he came across a park. Or at least it looked like it had been a park. A long time ago. A park that had been abandoned and turned into the neighborhood trash heap more than a few years ago. But, realizing that he'd shave a few minutes off his return time, Dean decided to cut through the crude dump. But cutting through the rubbish and out of control undergrowth was like cutting through a maze. And just as difficult. Because, as he dodged rusted appliances, rotting bags of garbage, broken bottles and various other discarded items, he could barely keep track of the direction he was actually heading.

But with the skill of a seasoned navigator, he managed to maintain his course through the unkempt field. He was almost clear of the junkyard when he heard the unmistakable sound of a branch breaking directly behind him…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sheriff Durham had gone back to the station to question his deputy and find out who the drunk was that he had brought in. When he arrived, he was more than a little surprised to discover that the deputy wasn't there. In fact, there was no one there. The station had been abandoned. And the front door had been left unlocked.

Sheriff Durham cautiously searched the station for any signs of foul play. But there was nothing. Nothing to give him cause for concern. And nothing to explain why his deputy had abandoned his post.

Hoping that the deputy had followed procedure when he brought the drunk in, Sheriff Durham went behind the desk to check out the dispatch sheet. And to find whatever notes the deputy would have written that detailed the quarantine of the drunk. But once again, he found nothing. Not even a scribble on a notepad to indicate that someone had called and alerted them to the drunk.

So how had the deputy found the man? Surely he hadn't just wandered into the station by himself?

But, then again, he hadn't really been a man. And in all probability, he had purposely come into the station looking for Dean. So maybe he had walked past the station and the deputy had simply seen him from the window. Then he'd gone outside and nabbed him for being drunk in a public place. That would explain why there was no record of anyone calling it in.

But it didn't explain what had happened to his deputy.

So the sheriff reached over to grab the radio. He clicked the button down and called, "Base to Unit 2-2. Come in."

But there was no response. Not even the familiar sound of static that usually emanated from the radio as it sat idle between transmissions. That's when the sheriff noticed that the machine had been unplugged. And that the wires had been ripped out of the back of the machine.

Which Rendered the device completely useless.

Reaching for his own portable radio, the sheriff once again surveyed the entire station. Something was going on. Something wasn't right. He knew that. He just didn't know what it was.

Bringing the radio up to his mouth, Sheriff Durham turned to lean against the desk and he was startled by the unexpected appearance of his deputy. But more unnerving than the deputy's sudden manifestation was the malevolent grin on his face.

Not to mention the unnatural yellow glow of the man's eyes …

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He had remained hidden for most of the night. Waiting. Because he knew they would eventually return. All he had to do was wait. And about an hour before daylight his patience had been rewarded. Two of them had returned. But still he had remained hidden. Concealed in the shadows. Because the time wasn't right. The trap wasn't set.

At least not yet.

He had watched as the two of them argued before they entered their dwelling. Watched as they shut the door behind them. Closing out the danger. And locking themselves safely inside their sanctuary.

Or so they thought.

But he would wait a little longer. He had nothing to lose. Not by waiting.

In fact, he had everything to gain.

So he waited some more. And watched as the oldest one of the two left again. Got back into the flashy vehicle and drove away.

Leaving the youngest one alone. And vulnerable.

And still he waited. He waited until he saw the father come back.

Now it was only a matter of time. Then they would strike. All of them together. Each of them focused on a single prey.

And the plan would be put into motion. And this plan was flawless. There was absolutely no chance it could fail. Not this plan. Not this time.

So he continued to wait. Until he saw the hunter leave again. And as he watched the family patriarch drive carelessly away, he smiled knowingly to himself. Because he knew that it was time.

And he would finally get what he had come for…


	44. Chapter 44

Dean tensed; all his senses instantly on high alert. Because he knew there shouldn't be anyone behind him. Not with how carefully he had scrutinized the entire area before he left the car. And he had been extremely vigilant ever since. There was absolutely no way he had been followed.

Not unless whatever had followed him hadn't done so from the ground.

It had been almost dawn when he had driven away from the motel. Almost. But not quite. And that meant that there was a distinct possibility that something could have been stalking him from the air. But now that the morning sun was beginning to rise, that something would have reverted to its human form.

And that would be what was pursuing him now.

As he continued on his journey back to the motel, Dean gave no indication that he believed he was not alone. But his seemingly relaxed persona couldn't have been farther from the truth. He had finely tuned his hearing in order to pick up even the slightest sound that indicated the whereabouts of the stalker and he kept a sharp lookout for any type of movement in his peripheral vision while he scanned the vicinity around him for anything he could use to his advantage or brandish as a weapon.

He resisted altering his speed, knowing that to do so would alert the interloper to the fact that he knew he was being followed. But he was no longer relaxed, every muscle in his body was taut and ready for the attack he knew was coming. And he was just going to sit back and wait for it to come. He would wait for whatever was pursuing him to make the first move, conducting himself as if this was just other hunt.

Because the only real difference was that he hadn't come to this one armed.

And, while that did put him at a slight disadvantage, it certainly wasn't going to be the deciding factor in this encounter. Not by a long shot. Because the winner of this skirmish was going to be determined by skill and by whichever fighter was able to utilize it the most effectively.

So, for Dean, that meant biding his time. Letting his opponent think he wasn't ready. Letting him believe that he was completely unaware of what was happening behind him. Letting him conclude that he was an easy mark. And that the fight was already won.

But, as everyone knows, appearances are often deceiving. And Dean was going to use that to his advantage.

As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long for his adversary to attack. Just as he reached the boundary of the shoddy park, Dean caught a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. So with the call to battle made, Dean quickly ducked behind a large tree. He veered so close to it that he narrowly missed scraping his back against it before he seized the trunk with one arm to be able to swing himself around it. As he spun effortlessly around the tree, he picked up a fallen branch and gripped it tightly in his other hand.

As he came up behind his foe, Dean released the tree trunk and grabbed the branch firmly with both hands. Wielding it like a baseball bat, he swung it fiercely and struck his unsuspecting opponent sharply in the back. The sudden impact of the branch on his body caused the man's knees buckle but he retained his balance by steadying himself against the tree. He recovered quickly and spun around to face the determined teenager. But as his hate-filled eyes sought him out, Dean thrust the branch forcefully toward his foe and speared it at his unprotected torso.

The man grabbed the end of the branch just before it stabbed him and he jumped easily out of its path. But as soon as the branch's momentum had been halted, Dean readjusted his hold on it by grasping it in the middle with one hand while he countered the man's strong hold on the branch by taking a step closer to him. Then Dean stepped forward, which pushed the unyielding branch into his opponent's body and caused him to take a step backwards.

As his opponent fought to gain control of the branch, Dean took another step closer to him before he kicked him powerfully in the groin. This caused the man to lurch forward over top of the branch and he ultimately lost his grip on it. Dean felt the man's grip slacken and without hesitating, he hoisted the branch and knocked his adversary forcibly under the chin. As the man reeled backwards in response to the latest intrusion, Dean once again gripped the branch like a bat and swung it mightily at the man's head. The branch caught his opponent brutally in the temple and he staggered backwards before finally succumbing to the assault and plunging heavily to the ground.

Dean stared down at the now prone figure, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He didn't recognize his assailant but he knew that the man was really an Aswang and that his goal had been to kill him. And, if that had indeed been his intension, there was no doubt in Dean's mind that another one of these creatures would be trying to get to Sam.

So Dean threw the branch away with an exaggerated flourish and raced off toward the motel…

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Not wanting to risk being seen in the neighborhood so soon after dumping the deputy-mayor's car there, John slunk through the back streets as he made his way back to the motel. He knew that this route would take him a bit longer to get back, but he wasn't overly worried. Sam was safe inside the room; he had double-checked the lines of salt himself. And besides that, Dean would easily be back by now,

With exhaustion beginning to overwhelm him, John slowed his pace. It was just after dawn on a Saturday morning and the streets were quiet. The majority of people didn't have to wake up early on the weekends and John took a bit of solace in the apparent peacefulness of the early morning hour.

But just as he let his fatigue take over, John realized he had made a mistake. He was momentarily caught off guard as he was suddenly blindsided by a large figure and knocked to the ground. The two combatants fell heavily to the ground in a tangled web of arms and legs as they wrestled viciously with one another. But John's error had left him vulnerable to the unexpected assault and he ended up pinned to the ground underneath his opponent. The man threw blow after merciless blow at John's head and his only option was to defend himself by shielding his face with his arms. And in his disadvantaged position, John could do little else than protect himself against serious injury until he sensed the man begin to show signs of exhaustion from the continuous barrage of punches that he was so intently trying to deliver to John' head.

But as soon as the man's onslaught began to taper off, John bucked his hips upwards to disengage him from his body. But the man held firm and John lifted both his legs and kneed the man vigorously in the small of his back. John's renewed offensive caused his opponent to lurch forward and John was able to grab both his wrists as he hurled frontward. John twisted the man's wrists around so that he fell onto his back on the ground beside him and John immediately sat up and placed one of his knees heavily on the man's chest. But John's weariness was impairing his ability to gain control of the situation and the man managed to free one hand from John's grip and he clawed viciously at John's neck.

He held John's throat just beneath his chin, trying desperately to choke him. But John countered by slamming his own hand down on his opponent's throat and blocking his windpipe. Securely holding his foe by the throat, John removed his knee from the man's chest and kicked him violently in the ribs. The impact of John's knee into his body caused the man to release his hold on John's neck, but he quickly thrust his arm into John's upper body in an attempt to fling him away from him.

The assault caused John to lunge backwards but he maintained his hold on the man's arm and, as he fell back, he managed to pull the man off the ground as he carried him with him. The two men rolled onto the ground once again and the fight continued as they both tried to gain the upper hand. But neither man seemed to be able to defeat the other and, eventually, they both staggered to their feet where they began to circle each other warily.

The physical exertion had taken its toll on John and he was almost ready to collapse. The man quickly realized his advantage and ascertained that he merely had to taunt John in order to outlast him. So a distasteful game of cat and mouse ensued, with John trying desperately to end the fight while his rival tried just as hard to prolong it. The man skillfully dodged every punch and jab that John threw at him while he watched John grow weaker and weaker. His face took on a menacing scowl as he continued to goad the eldest Winchester, taking delight in lengthening the battle.

The man's strategy was clear to him and John knew he was only moments away from unwillingly surrendering to his escalating fatigue. He had to bring the battle to a rapid conclusion. So John rushed the man. But just as John charged him, his opponent spun sideways, easily avoided the collision and elbowing John violently in the middle of his back. John fell to his knees and the man was on top of him before he had a chance to recover.

He placed John in a chokehold and pulled his head backwards with incredible force. John's arms went to his throat but he was now entirely at the mercy of this ruthless antagonist. The man increased the pressure on John's neck until John couldn't breathe at all and he slowly felt himself losing consciousness.

As he was about to give in to the all-encompassing blackness, John just vaguely heard a loud crack which was immediately followed by the relaxation of the man's stranglehold on his neck. As he slowly regained his senses John inhaled deeply before he fell limply to the ground. But he was still uncertain as to what exactly had transpired so John sprung up instinctively to stand up to the threat he was sure still waited for him.

John vaulted to his feet and came face to face with his oldest son. Dean was standing over the unconscious body of John's assailant with a broken beer bottle in his hand. The remainder of the bottle lay in fragments scattered around the man's head.

John blinked and straightened himself up. He glanced between the body on the ground and his son but he refrained from speaking. Dean looked at his father, trying to assess his condition. Determining that his father was none the worse for wear, Dean glanced at the figure on the ground before he slowly lowered the broken bottle and tossed it haphazardly away.

"Fancy meetin' you here, Dad."

"Yeah," replied John breathlessly, "Especially considering that I told you to stay in the motel until I returned."

Shocked by the bitterness in his father's voice, Dean simply stared at him for a moment before he answered sarcastically, "Then I guess it was a good thing for you that my hearing been acting up a bit lately." Then he turned abruptly on his heels to head back to the motel.

John watched as Dean walked briskly away. He closed his eyes and sighed. It had been wrong to treat his oldest son like that and he knew it. He knew that he should have at least expressed a bit of gratitude and not been so quick to berate him. Especially for something that would have, if obeyed, led to dire consequences.

But he had never been good at communicating with Dean. Which in turn had led to Dean not being able to communicate well with him. Or not wanting to. John wasn't sure which. But either way, it was a vicious circle. One that they had perpetuated for a long time. And one that wasn't likely to stop revolving any time soon.

As he silently admonished himself for lashing out at his eldest son, John knew that, in actuality, he had been extremely lucky that Dean had shown up when he did. And the truth was that he had been more than overjoyed to see him. It had been comforting to know that, once again, Dean had had his back. He had been there when it mattered the most. Like he had trained him to be.

And like he always was.

John stared after his son, trying to will himself to speak. But, no matter how hard he tried, the words just wouldn't come. So instead, he cleared his throat, hoping that Dean would recognize that as a signal that he had something to say to him. He watched as Dean hesitated, but didn't turn around. He simply straightened his posture and paused. John knew he was waiting for him to say something.

Anything.

But, after a prolonged moment of silence, Dean once again commenced walking toward the motel. And as John watched his son go, the ache in his heart grew as deep as the chasm that existed between him and his oldest son. And it was just about impossible to breach. Just as difficult as it was to acknowledge. It was almost completely inaccessible.

And then, unexpectedly, John found his voice.

"Dean."

This time Dean stopped. But he didn't turn around. He didn't dare face his father. Not when he was uncertain what the man would say. Or how he would react to whatever words came out of his father's mouth. So, instead, he remained motionless, waiting for the reprimand he was sure was coming. Only it didn't come. Nothing did. There was only a continued silence.

Dean struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. The tears that he knew his father would see as a sign of weakness. A weakness that his father would never be able to look beyond in order to see the son who simply wanted a tiny modicum of acceptance and approval.

But John remained tongue-tied. The words of approval never passed his lips. Neither did the gratitude. Nor the praise. There was only an unrelenting silence that hung between father and son like an impenetrable blanket.

Finally Dean couldn't take the uncomfortable silence any longer and he stated hesitantly, "Dad, we should get back. In case Sammy needs us."

Dean's words shook John back into action and he quickly breached the distance to catch up to his son. With their differences momentarily shoved aside and forgotten, the two Winchesters hightailed as fast as they could back to the remaining member of their family.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It took a moment for the reality of what he was seeing to seep into Sheriff Durham's brain. Still not used to dealing with the supernatural, he was temporarily confused by what he was seeing in front of him as his deputy's abhorrent mutation began. Until, all of a sudden, the seriousness of his predicament hit the sheriff like a ton of bricks.

According to what he remembered of John's story, once an Aswang assumed its animal form, it was pretty much unbeatable. And by the look of his deputy, it wasn't going to be long before his familiar human form was eradicated by the transformation into the type of creature that the sheriff had only seen once before.

And wasn't too keen on ever seeing again.

Acting on a combination of reflex and years of weapons training, the sheriff withdrew his gun from his holster. Even as he pointed the weapon at the deputy, he knew it was a useless exercise. There was no silver bullet in the chamber; only regular police-issue buckshot. And that wasn't going to kill the man.

Still, he figured it was as good a deterrent as any other he had available to him - which really didn't amount to much. He held the gun unwaveringly in front of him as he stared the mutating deputy directly in the eye. His years in law enforcement had taught him to try to defuse a tense situation before he resorted to violence and he irrationally hoped that the sight of the gun would be enough to thwart the deputy. But the man simply grinned at him. And as the evil, spiteful grin spread slowly across the deputy's face, the sheriff realized the futility of his belief.

So he pulled the trigger.

And he saw the bullet penetrate the deputy's chest. The force of the impact made the man stumble backwards a few feet. But he didn't fall down. Nor did he surrender his concentration.

And, most annoying of all, he didn't even lose his stupid grin for a second.

But, as he regained his balance, he glanced down at his body and placed his hand over the wound as if assessing it for damage control. But the gunshot was more a nuisance than an actual hindrance and the deputy just as quickly returned his wicked gaze to the sheriff.

As the deputy took a step toward him, the sheriff fired again. This time he hit the deputy just above the knee. And once again the deputy reeled backwards before he grasped the newly acquired wound. And, although the wound wasn't fatal, it had the same effect on the deputy as it would have on any other person; it effectively immobilized him.

Unable to walk, the deputy nonetheless stood up still clutching his injured knee and leered at the sheriff. But his injury appeared to have halted the transformation and Sheriff Durham gained some much-needed confidence. Taking his eyes briefly off the deputy, Sheriff Durham found the nightstick that they kept at the main desk for emergencies and he grasped it firmly in one hand while keeping the gun aimed at the pitiful deputy with the other.

Caught between realms as a half-human/half-monster, the deputy hissed menacingly as the sheriff approached him. He retained his hold on his injured knee as he watched the sheriff advance, never taking his eyes off the man. As soon as the sheriff was close enough, the deputy sprung at him like a cornered cat. But before he was able to reach the sheriff, an earsplitting shot rang out and the deputy fell harmlessly to the ground.

Sheriff Durham's heart was pounding in his ears and he stared down at the lifeless body of his deputy at his feet. A man that up until now he had considered to be his friend. He was more than a little shocked to discover that the deputy was still breathing. His last shot had hit him right below his eye and by everything that the sheriff had held true until this night, the man should have been dead. But he wasn't and Sheriff Durham knew why.

So without any hesitation whatsoever, the sheriff clubbed the deputy on the back of his head with the nightstick to ensure that he would remain unconscious for a little while longer.

He gently nudged the unconscious deputy with his foot; still not convinced that the man no longer posed a threat to him. But when he didn't budge, Sheriff Durham kicked him a bit harder. Receiving no response at all, the sheriff quickly tucked the baton into his belt and holstered his gun. Then he turned the deputy over, grabbed him under the arms and dragged him back to the containment area.

After he had deposited the unresponsive deputy into one of the cells, Sheriff Durham locked him in. At least that would hold him for the time being. And, in the meantime, the sheriff knew exactly what he had to do.

Go and get John's truck.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Prior to emerging from his hiding spot, he surveyed the area for any sign of unwanted activity. But there was nothing. It was just after dawn and the streets were quiet. Which suited him just fine. Because that way he didn't to have to worry about witnesses.

He walked cautiously across the street, still keeping a careful eye out for any signs of trouble. Even though he knew that the others would be engaging the rest of them, he was still uneasy. Not because he didn't think the plan would succeed. Because he knew it would. It was foolproof. But he always remained anxious until after the plan had been completed.

It was better that way.

It made him a better hunter. And that's how he had taken over the pack. And become the leader amongst a ragtag assembly of creatures that were usually solitary hunters. But he knew there was no advantage to that. No way to further the interests of their race. Or even to ensure their continued existence.

So he had successfully banded them together. And that had made them strong. Made them a force to be reckoned with. And they had successfully infiltrated the town's infrastructure. And replaced most of its influential citizens with their own kind. And used the town as their own private hunting grounds.

That was…

Until that bothersome hunter had shown up.

At first they had barely noticed him. They dismissed him as just another glory-seeker looking to get his name in the papers by solving the mysterious killings that were plaguing the town. An amateur that could be easily disposed of. Without any trouble at all.

And they had continued to think that right up until the hunter and his offspring had murdered his wife. Shot and killed her as she was out securing a meal for their family. They had killed her in cold blood. With nary a thought for the family she had left behind.

And for that, the hunter was going to pay.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and cut across the grass to decrease the time it would take him to get to the building. As he neared the desired entranceway, he sensed the presence of an extremely powerful deterrent. One that would prevent him from fulfilling his task.

He smiled to himself.

Because it was nothing that he hadn't already anticipated. Or expected.

He continued walking past the door until he reached the establishment's office. The door was unlocked and he walked in. There was no sign of anyone around, but there was a bell to ring if you needed help. So he rang it rapidly a couple of times in order to convey the urgency of his visit. A moment later the owner came through the set of private doors that led to his domicile. He looked tired. And slightly annoyed.

That was…until he saw who was standing in his lobby.

"Good Day Sir. How can I help you?" he asked cheerfully with only a hint of tiredness remaining in his voice.

"I need to get into one of your rooms. There's an urgent matter in there and it has to be taken care of right away."

"Oh, of course, Sir. Anything you need," stated the owner as he grabbed his ring that contained a set of keys for every room of the motel. "What room number is it?"

"Fifteen."

"Okay, here we go," replied the vexed innkeeper as he located the key to the requested room. As they exited the office and walked toward Room 15, he looked at the authority figure beside him and asked nervously, "But shouldn't we alert all the tenants?"

"No. That won't be necessary. It's not a real emergency. Except for the boy that's locked in that room. If my information is correct, and I believe it is, I'm positive he's been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" reiterated the shocked innkeeper. "I knew there was something strange about that man."

"Well, the boy's alone now. So this will be our best chance to get him out of there. But I'm going to need your help."

"My help? But shouldn't you wait for the sheriff?"

"He should be on his way here. But he's been rather preoccupied with those attacks at Brewer Park last night so he might not make it in time. That's why I need you to help me."

"But I'm not sure I'll know what to do."

They had reached the door to Room 15 and the motel owner inserted the key into the lock while his companion surveyed the surrounding area once again. But there was still no one around and he smiled wickedly to himself. As the door slowly swung open, he could see the sleeping form of a teenager lying on the bed furthest from the door. And their arrival hadn't wakened him.

Perfect.

He put his hand lightly on the proprietor's shoulder and whispered cautiously, "I want you to go in and get him. I'm going to stand guard out here. That way I'll be able to spot any signs of trouble before it arrives."

"All right," sighed the innkeeper hesitantly before he walked cautiously into the room.

As he watched the man cross over the salt without even flinching, he couldn't help but congratulate himself. He had successfully conned the man. And it hadn't been hard. Not with his position in town. People knew him. And trusted him. It came with the territory.

The innkeeper proceeded over to the bed and began gently trying to rouse the sleeping teenager. But as he watched the nervous man lightly shake the boy's shoulder, he knew it was a useless exercise. Because the boy had been drugged. Heavily sedated while he was at the hospital. The doctor had seen to that. It had all been part of the plan.

Careful to keep his voice low, he called urgently into the room, "Just carry him out. We haven't got all day. The kidnapper could return at any moment."

So, with a shaky sigh, the innkeeper lifted the teen in his arms and walked uncertainly back to the door. His companion was waiting there, glancing fretfully back and forth between him and what was happening outside. As he stepped over the unnoticed line of protective salt, he suddenly found himself being pulled violently out of the room. And then something hit him violently in the side of his head.

And the last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the weight of the teenager being lifted out of his arms.


	45. Chapter 45

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter. I wrote and re-wrote it I don't know how many times. I had a hard time getting it to come together the way I wanted. But I finally decided I could live with this, so here it is...(Hope it's okay.)_

_And, for those of you who have been wondering if I'm ever going to finish this story (And I know there's a few of you!)...the answer is "Yes." Only a couple more chapters to go!_

_And...thanks again for reading - and for all the great reviews!_

* * *

He carried the boy across the street, keeping a sharp lookout for anything that could possibly turn into a problem. But, as expected, there was nothing. They had had to come up with another plan after the hunter thwarted their last one and all the humans had escaped alive. Although, it really wasn't the hunter who had outwitted them; it was his first-born child. No one had anticipated his involvement. 

But, nevertheless, they had regrouped. And formulated a new plan. And this time he had decided that it would be best if he was directly involved. After all, he was the leader. And the leader should always play a role. Especially when the stakes were so high.

He hurried through the parking lot of the small processing plant and walked behind the building to where he had left his car. Hoisting the teenager onto his shoulder, he opened the backdoor and laid him carefully on the seat. There was no need to injure him further.

He grabbed the roll of duct tape from the floor, ripped off a large piece and taped the boy's hands together. Then he took another piece and taped it over the boy's mouth. Not that he expected the boy to be a problem. Not after all the drugs and poison they had injected into his system. But it was always prudent to be careful. And then, if the boy did wake up, he wouldn't have to worry about him screaming for help and attracting unwanted attention.

He shut the car door as quietly as possible and scanned the area yet again for intruders. But there was still nothing. So with a satisfied grin, he got into his car and drove across town. He turned onto the small cul-de-sac and pulled into his driveway. There was no need for caution now. Every one of the houses on this street was occupied by one of their kind. It made it easier for them to remain undiscovered. And for him to retain control.

As he unloaded the sleeping boy from his car, he knew that the hardest part of this entire plan was going to be keeping the others away from him. The entire colony was famished because that vexing hunter had continually hindered their efforts to obtain food. So there would be tremendous interest in this boy. And even though he had promised a communal feast, each of them would all be clambering to have him for their own. And although they couldn't eat until nightfall, having a suitable meal on hand would certainly appeal to everyone.

But first, he had plans for the boy.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Racing up to the motel, both John and Dean were taken aback by the sight of a prone figure sprawled out on the walkway right in front of their room. They dashed toward him, deathly afraid that it was Sam. But as they got closer they realized that it was the owner of the motel. As they knelt down beside him to check his condition, Dean suddenly noticed that the door to their room wasn't completely closed.

Alarmed, Dean immediately jumped up and ran toward the door. He raced to the far side of it and cautiously backed against the wall before he laid his arm horizontally across the door. Pushing the door open with his outstretched arm, he scanned the interior of the room. And he became increasingly dismayed. Because the room was vacant. And Sammy wasn't there.

They had arrived too late.

Dean dashed into the room, anxiously checking the only other place his brother could be. But the bathroom was empty too. And Sam was gone.

Dean's hurried movements had momentarily perplexed John, but as he watched Dean ease the door open, comprehension dawned and he abandoned the unconscious innkeeper and flew to the doorway. Dean had already rushed inside and, just as he feared, John found himself staring into an otherwise empty room.

Dean spun around to face his father. "Dad! Sam's not here! _He's gone!_"

John quickly surveyed the room for himself, confirming what he already knew; something had happened to his youngest son while he was gone. Willing himself to remain calm, John mentally evaluated every possible scenario. There was no way that Sammy would have left the room. Not on his own. And not by himself. And nothing supernatural could have gotten into that room. He had assured himself of that before he left. But if it hadn't been an Aswang, then what was it?

Or more likely..._Who _was it?

The Leaveys were the first people to cross his mind.

But John didn't really believe that the deputy-mayor had had anything to do with this. Problem was...he couldn't think of anyone else. And the Leavey boys had already kidnapped Sam once. So what was to stop them from trying again?

Other than the fact that he was pretty sure that the entire family was still at the hospital.

But there was no other explanation. It had to be the Aswangs or the Leaveys. And he had to figure out which. So he could formulate a plan and get his son back.

Dean's mind was spinning as he stood motionless in the middle of the room. This didn't make sense. He had protected the room before he left. He knew he had. The door had been locked. Sam should have been safe. But he hadn't been. That much was obvious. And now he was gone. And Dean knew it was ultimately his fault. Because he had left his brother alone.

Dean looked up at his father. "Dad! We _gotta_ find him!"

John could hear the panic in his oldest son's guilt-ridden voice. "I know Dean. We will. But first we have to know for sure who - or what - got into this room. So, we do what we always do and start with the obvious. We check the lines of salt to see if any of them are broken."

"But the room was protected, Dad," stated Dean fretfully, "I redrew the lines of salt before I left. And I know they were good."

"Yes, Dean. I checked them too. And they looked fine to me. But something got in and we have to figure out what. So, if any of the lines are broken, then we can assume that somehow or other an Aswang got in. But if all the lines are intact then something else came in and took Sammy." He took a deep breath before he continued, "And if that's what happened then he could be in a lot worse trouble."

"In worse trouble than being taken by an Aswang?"

"Yeah…because then I wouldn't even know where to start looking."

"Well, I would," replied Dean, his voice harsh and determined. "Because I'd be willing to bet that this has something to do with Robin and his brother."

John thought it was ironic that he had thought the same thing. But before he would be willing to pin this on the Leaveys, he had to completely rule out the Aswangs. Because they were the ones with a stronger motive. And both he and Dean had provided them with the opportunity to snatch Sammy when they had left him alone. But, what John couldn't figure out was how they been able to circumvent the salt.

Still, he was pretty sure the Leaveys had an alibi.

"Let's just make sure that it wasn't an Aswang before we go blaming anyone else for this," stated John firmly. "Go check the bathroom window. See if the salt had been disturbed."

Without hesitation, Dean headed to the bathroom and John checked the windows in the main room. To their surprise they found that all of the lines of salt underneath the windows were intact. But the line of salt in front of the door looked like someone had scuffed through it. A couple of times. Once coming in and once going out. But the line wasn't broken. Just stepped on and scattered. Which meant that there was no way an Aswang could have entered the room. John and Dean stared intensely at the oddly disturbed line of salt, trying to figure out what had happened. And who had taken Sam.

Dean's angry voice broke the silence. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

"Dean, we don't know for sure if the Leaveys are even involved in this," cautioned John. "They were all still at the hospital when I left."

"How do you know that?"

There was a brief pause before John answered.

"I ran into Greg Leavey on my way out."

"You ran into Robin's father?"

"Well, actually…he ran into me."

"What do you mean he ran into you?"

"Let's just say that I took a page outta your book on how to deal with the Leaveys."

"A page outta _my_ book?" asked Dean, a little confused. Then it struck him. His father must have belted Robin's father. "_You hit him?_"

"Clocked him so hard, he hit the back of the elevator when he fell. Knocked him right out."

"Way to go, Dad," smirked Dean, "Guess I am finally beginnin' to rub off on you."

"Maybe a little too much so."

"How's that?"

"I kinda took that opportunity to, umm…borrow his car."

"_You stole Greg Leavey's car?_"

"Borrowed it. And, yeah. I didn't feel like wastin' any more time lookin' for another one. So I just took his keys outta his pocket."

"Sooo…I guess we kinda left the whole family stranded at the hospital," admitted Dean somewhat reluctantly. 'Cause I hotwired Robin's car too."

"You didn't?"

"Yeah, I did. But it was sittin' right there, Dad! And I figured Robin deserved it more than anyone else in town. And, besides, it was unlocked. And a cinch to hotwire."

"Uh huh."

"How 'bout…I've always _wanted_ to test-drive a Mustang?"

"I bet you have."

John knew why Dean had taken Robin's car. And it had nothing to do with being easy to hotwire. Or being a Mustang. It had everything to do with goading Robin. Again. But he'd worry about that later. Right now they had to find Sam. And he knew just who could help them do that.

John turned and headed out the door. He glanced back at Dean and ordered, "Help me get this man inside. I think he'll be able to tell us what happened. Or at least who was here."

Dean had completely forgotten about the motel owner. Not that he was going to be a lot of help anyway. Pretty hard to say anything when you're not even conscious. And whoever had knocked him out seemed to have intended it that way.

"And you're just plannin' to sit around here and wait until he wakes up?" asked Dean incredulously.

"No. We're going to help him wake up. So we can talk to him. Find out what he knows."

Together they brought the innkeeper into the room and laid him on the bed. Dean went to get a cool, damp cloth while John repositioned the man on the bed, making sure that he could breathe properly. After tilting his head back, loosening his shirt collar and wiping his forehead with the cloth the innkeeper still hadn't awoken. Figuring he must have been hurt worse than he had initially thought, John went to the first aid kit and took out some smelling salts. Even though they weren't medically recommended to revive people, they did work and John wasn't about to wait any longer for the man to wake up.

So John waved them under the man's nose and he began to stir. As he regained consciousness, the man took a couple of deep breaths and brought his hands up to his face before he opened his eyes. As his surroundings slowly came into focus, he was immediately overcome with terror and he tried desperately to scramble away. But his retreat was abruptly halted when he hit the headboard. He drew his legs up closer and stared at John in abject horror.

Unsure why the man would be so afraid, John took a step closer. But as soon as he did that, the man recoiled even further, shielding his face with his arms and turning away.

"_Stay…stay away from me!_" the innkeeper cried. "I know what you are!"

"You know what I am? And what would that be?"

"_Just…just…you better let me go!_" retaliated the man, glancing nervously between John and Dean. "Because the sheriff will be here any minute!"

"How do you know the sheriff's coming?" asked John, completely bewildered.

"Because he told me the sheriff was on his way."

"Who told you?" queried John.

But the motel owner didn't answer, instead continually shifting his gaze from John to Dean. He didn't trust either of them. And he had no idea what had happened to put him in this predicament. But he certainly wasn't going to say anything more to this man.

"Who told you the sheriff was coming?" asked John again.

"It…It doesn't matter. But he's coming to arrest you."

"Arrest me? For what?"

"For kidnapping that boy! The one that was here this morning!"

The distraught innkeeper's eyes grew wide as he realized too late that he had just divulged more information to the kidnapper. He stared nervously at them as John and Dean exchanged glances. He was afraid of what they were going to do to him. He could only pray that the sheriff arrived soon.

"You think I kidnapped my own son?"

But this time the innkeeper did remain silent. He was too scared to talk and John recognized his terror. Even though he wanted to wring the man's neck and drag the information out of him, John knew that he was more likely to succeed in giving the poor man a heart attack than actually extracting anything useful from him. If he was going to get any information from this man, John was going to have to find some way to convince him that he wasn't in any danger. And that neither he nor Dean were kidnappers.

Suddenly, as if on cue, there was a loud knock on the door. Unsure who it might be, Dean immediately went and stood behind the door. Just in case he'd have to jump whoever was there. And, as Dean got into position, John turned and glanced out the window. Then he walked to the door and winked at Dean as he reached for the doorknob.

"Sheriff Durham," greeted John as he swung the door open.

At the sight of the sheriff, the relieved innkeeper bolted off the bed and dashed toward him, immediately stepping behind the officer of the law. With the sheriff between him and the Winchesters, the man stated brazenly, "That's him! That's the man you want! Go ahead and arrest him!" as he shakily pointed toward John.

"Arrest him? For what?" asked Sheriff Durham quizzically.

"For kidnapping!"

"_Kidnapping?_ Well, that's a new one. And about the only thing left that I haven't been asked to charge him with," replied the sheriff, shaking his head disbelievingly. Then Sheriff Durham walked casually into the room, leaving the poor innkeeper alone at the door. The sheriff sat down and looked at John, "You're a hard man to keep track of, ya know that?" With a quick glance at Dean, he continued, "And seems they're missing a few patients at the hospital too. Quite a stir going on there right now. Upset nurses. Doctors. Other individuals. Missing vehicles. You know anything about that?"

John just raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders slightly as if he had no clue what the sheriff was talking about.

"Anyway, I figured I knew where I'd find you," resumed the sheriff. "Although it did take quite some doing to get away from Greg Leavey." And then, as if nothing had happened, he leaned forward in his seat and called out to the nervous motel owner who was still standing outside the door, "Come on in here, Joe."

The motel owner glanced uneasily into the room. "But aren't you going to arrest him first?" he asked tentatively.

"Not right now. Not until I find out exactly what's going on."

"But he kidnapped that boy!"

"What boy?" sighed the sheriff.

"The young lad that was here this morning! The one you were comin' for!"

"I wasn't coming for any boy, Joe. I was simply returning Mr. Winchester's truck to him." With that, the sheriff tossed John the keys that he held in his hand. "I figured he was going to need it."

John glanced outside. Sure enough, his truck was now parked in front of their room. He quickly nodded his thanks to the sheriff before explaining, "Sam's missing." Tilting his head in the innkeeper's direction, he stated, "And I think he can tell us who took him."

Sheriff Durham looked up at John; then his gaze fell to Dean. He could tell by their expressions that they were dead serious. And they needed his help to get the owner of the motel to trust them.

"So, Joe…Come on in here," he called to the anxious man outside. "Tell us what happened. Who took the boy?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The others had returned. But they had returned without the desired prey.

It had been a simple task really: Capture the three humans. Bring them back. And tonight they would feast.

After he got his revenge.

But they had failed him. Failed the pack. And foiled the plan. But the plan was still salvageable.

They would just have to modify it. Because one thing was still certain.

The hunter would come for the boy. And he would bring the others with him.

So, instead of hunting their prey, they would let their prey hunt them.

Let them get close.

And then he would offer up the boy.

And use him to keep the hunter at bay.

Until night fell.

When he would unleash the pack.

And let them devour the boy. Slowly. Brutally. Painfully.

While his father watched. And his brother too.

It would be payback for what they had done to his wife.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

After coaxing the entire story out of the innkeeper, the three men tried to sort out what they had learned. They now knew who the ringleader was. And how he had managed to successfully abduct Sam. But they still didn't know how many others there were. They knew there was a nurse. And a sheriff's deputy. There were the two that they had already killed and the two who had attacked John and Dean just a short time ago. But there had to be more.

Based on the description that Dean had provided, Sheriff Durham thought that the man who attacked him sounded like it could be one of the firemen in town. Which fit with what they had begun to suspect; that several key positions in town were actually held by Aswangs. And it started high up in the bureaucracy and filtered down through the medical and emergency response agencies. John surmised that they'd also be masquerading as doctors, firefighters, paramedics and schoolteachers. He just didn't know who they were. Or how many.

And before they rescued Sam, they'd have to know for sure.

Ever since he had rushed into the motel room, Dean had been mentally berating himself over his brother's abduction. Had he only obeyed his father and stayed with Sam, none of this would have happened. Because he would have been here to stop whoever had taken his brother. And Sam would still be here. But, instead, he had just had to leave to get rid of Robin's car. Just so he could avoid getting arrested. He had put his own selfish interests ahead of his brother. And Sam was gone because of it.

So when his father announced that they were going to wait to rescue Sammy, Dean couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Are you outta your mind?" he snapped angrily, "You're just gonna leave him there?"

John took a deep breath before he answered, "He's safe for now."

"You call being with a bunch of Aswangs _safe_?"

John sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, trying his best to retain his composure, "At the moment - yes. They can't eat unless they're in their natural form. And that only occurs at night."

"_But that doesn't stop them from hurting him before then!_"

"They won't hurt him, Dean."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because they're using him as a pawn. To lure us into another trap. There's more chance they'll hurt Sam when we do show up. Because they're going to use him against us. They'll threaten to harm him unless we back off and stay away. Because what they really want is to keep us close by until nightfall, when they'll be able to attack us. So, right now, it's better for Sammy if we just stay away."

"So how are we going to figure out how to get him back?" asked Dean worriedly.

John glanced quickly at the sheriff. "We're going to talk to the deputy at the jail."

So the three of them got into John's truck and drove to the sheriff's station. Before they went inside, they armed themselves with the proper weaponry. And lots of it. Because they weren't taking any more chances. Then they went quietly in through the back entrance, walking directly into the cellblock. And as soon as the deputy saw them, he moved uneasily away from the bars.

The three men approached his cell and stared at him. Had they been judging him on appearance alone, there was nothing to indicate that he wasn't exactly what he pretended to be. Even his wounds had healed during the sheriff's absence.

But none of them were fooled.

"Brought a couple of guys that want to talk to you," stated the sheriff nonchalantly as he opened the cell door.

John handed his gun to Dean before he slipped inside the cell and Sheriff Durham locked the door behind him. Then he handed the key to Dean and said, "I'm gonna check some things in the front. See what else I can find out. You look after your Dad."

As Sheriff Durham disappeared through the steel door to the main part of the station, Dean quickly pocketed the key. Then he aimed the gun steadily at the deputy. With Dean as his backup, John slowly advanced on the terrified deputy. He was taller than the deputy. By a good three inches. And he outweighed him too. At least as long as the deputy maintained his humanoid form. And sundown was a long way away. Which gave John all the time he needed to extract information from him.

The deputy reacted to his presence just the way John knew he would; he backed away from John until he backed himself right into the wall. Because Aswangs were cowardly hunters. Regardless of the unprecedented attacks they had tried to mount last night. But now that he was alone and defenseless, the deputy was petrified. And John was going to use that to his advantage.

John walked right up to the man without saying a word, not stopping until he had him cornered. Then he placed his hands against the wall just above the man's shoulders. John stared menacingly into his eyes, noting instantly that his reflection in them was inverted. Any doubts he may have harbored about the man's true identity vanished.

"How many of you are there?" he demanded.

But the deputy just stared at him. So John removed one of his hands from the wall and seized the deputy by the neck. And he tightened his grip just enough for it to be uncomfortable.

John's voice was harsh as he stated on no uncertain terms, "Just so we're straight. I know I can't kill you. But my son can. See that gun he's holding? It's loaded with silver bullets. And unless you tell me what I want to know, I'm gonna let him shoot you."

The deputy glanced nervously over John's shoulder. "He won't shoot me. He's just a kid."

"Don't count on that," contested Dean as he cocked the gun.

"Now…we can do this one of two ways," continued John. "You can either tell me what I want to know right now and I'll let you live. Or I can beat it out of you. After which time you'll be _more_ than happy to have Dean put you out of your misery." He tightened his grip, lifting the deputy slightly off the ground and asked, "So, what's it gonna be?"

John could feel the man's heart beating rapidly underneath his fingertips. He held the hapless man in place, waiting for him to respond. When the response didn't come fast enough, John took a step closer and slid the deputy further up the wall. And that got the man's attention.

"If I tell you…You'll let me go?" he croaked as he the struggled against John's hold.

"Scouts honor."

"Okay…okay…I'll tell you. Just don't hurt me."

John released his hold on the man but he didn't step back. He was going to intimidate the man. Not let him forget what he had said. Or that he meant it. Every last word. He glared heavily at the man, waiting impatiently for him to begin.

"There's…there's thirteen of us all together."

"Names," demanded John.

"There's a nurse, Cheryl Baker, and Dr. Hardy at the hospital… a couple of paramedics…Bruce Gagnon and Al Rogers…the butcher and his wife…a…a teacher, Wendy Latimer, at the high school. The fire chief and another fireman, uh…Tony Matthews…and…and the Wallaces." He looked pleadingly up at John, "That's all."

John grabbed the man by the shirt and slammed him up against the wall. "Guess I forgot to mention that I don't like being lied to?"

"I didn't lie to you! I swear!"

"But you conveniently left out a few names," declared John angrily, pushing the frightened man against the wall.

"No…no, I didn't! I swear I didn't! I told you the truth!"

"Then tell me who's the leader of your little pack."

"It's…umm…it's…it's Chief Nevins. From the fire department," stammered the man.

John's anger was beginning to get the best of him and he fisted the deputy's shirt in his hand and pulled him closer. "Tell me why you're protecting him. Do you really think he's going to be able to help you now?"

"I'm…I'm not protecting anyone," protested the deputy.

John glared at the man. He'd have hit him if he didn't think it would be detrimental to his cause. But fear was a greater motivator. And the fear of being physically injured could be worse than actually being injured.

"Then tell me how Mayor Rennick fits into this."

"Mayor Rennick? But he's not involved. He's not one of us."

"Dammit!" screamed John "Stop lying to me! That man took my son! And I want to know why?"

Terrified, the deputy finally spilled it out, "Because…you killed his wife!"

So that was it. It was all about revenge.

John released the hapless deputy, shoving him backwards and watching him fall to the floor. As the deputy picked himself up off the floor, John remained standing stoically in front of him. Then without another word, he turned and strode back to the door, ordering Dean to open it as he approached.

Dean hastily put the key into the lock with one hand while he kept the pistol aimed at the deputy with the other. As soon as he unlocked the door, John burst angrily through it and headed toward the main part of the station. Dean swung the door shut and locked it before he once again grabbed the pistol with both hands, resuming his watch on the deputy.

Reaching the door that separated the cellblock from the rest of the station, John pushed the door open. Then he paused. And without bothering to look back, he issued an order.

"Shoot him."

Then he disappeared through the doorway.

And as the sound of the door slamming shut echoed throughout the otherwise silent room, the deputy turned to Dean and pleaded, "But he said he'd let me live if I told him."

"Guess he changed his mind."

And once again Dean cocked the gun.

But as he stood there with the deputy clearly in his sights, Dean began having reservations about shooting the man. He looked so normal. Not like anything he had ever shot before. And certainly not like the Aswang that Dean knew he was. He looked just like a regular person.

And Dean had never shot a regular person.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to reconcile what he knew with what he saw. And watching him hesitate, the deputy sensed Dean's trepidation and began to chuckle.

"I knew you couldn't do it."

Dean crooked his finger. And the gun went off.


	46. Chapter 46

John had just finished providing the sheriff with the names that the deputy had given him when the shot rang out. Both men paused. But they didn't look at each other. They simply waited. To see what was going to happen next. But nothing happened. There was no additional gunfire. No further sounds emanated from the containment bay. No creak of the heavy steel door as it opened or closed. No footsteps came from the back.

There was only silence.

"He okay?" ventured the sheriff, breaking the uneasy calm between them.

"He will be," replied John quietly. "But that'll be the hardest thing he ever has to do."

Sheriff Durham glanced quickly at John but he didn't respond. There was nothing to say.

"He looked like a person," elaborated John. "And I wasn't sure if Dean could shoot him."

"Then why did you leave him to do it?"

"Because I needed to know he could. He's no good to me if he hesitates to shoot something just because it looks human. Especially now. Not with his brother's life at stake."

"But shouldn't that be enough motivation on its own?"

"Oh, it'll motivate him all right," conceded John. "But it's one thing to shoot something that looks like it just came out of one of your nightmares, and a totally different thing to have to shoot something that, for all intents and purposes, looks human. And that's what he's going to have to do when we go in for Sammy. Because they're all going to look like people. But that won't mean they are. And, regardless of what they look like, we're going to have to kill them. All of them. So I needed to know that he could do it. And he needed to know it too. Unfortunately, that was the only way to prove it."

"Are you sure he's ready for this?" questioned the sheriff.

"He's gonna have to be."

"You could let him sit this one out."

John smirked. "You don't know Dean. Even if I told him to stay out of it, he wouldn't. If you handcuffed him and locked him in that cell, he'd find a way out. And he'd never forgive me for not trusting him enough to include him."

"I gather he's been doing this type of thing for a while now?"

"Been hunting with me since he was nine."

"Must be a hard way to grow up."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It happened so fast, it didn't seem real. He remembered the man mocking him. Telling him he couldn't do it. Wondering himself if he really could. Then crooking his finger. Hearing the gun go off and feeling the familiar kickback in his hand. Watching the deputy grab his chest as blood soaked his shirt. And splattered on the wall. The man's horror-stricken eyes staring back at him. Before they went blank. Vacant. Lifeless. And he crashed to the ground. Dead.

And, at that moment, Dean felt as if he had died with him.

He dropped the gun as if it had suddenly caught on fire and fell heavily to his knees. His heart was pounding in his ears. He felt sick and he closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves. Trying to come to terms with what he had done. Convince himself that he had done the right thing. That he hadn't just killed a man. A man who hadn't been a threat. Hadn't even been armed. But he shot him anyway.

Killed him in cold blood.

Because that's how he felt. Like a murderer. Even though he wasn't. And he knew he wasn't. Because the deputy hadn't been human. Hadn't been a man. No matter what he looked like. And Dean knew that. He just had to convince himself. But the illusion had been so strong. The reality so absurd. Even for someone who believed in ghosts. And goblins. And everything else unimaginable. But those things were different. Because there was always some sort of difference with all of them. Something to convince you that they weren't human.

But there hadn't been this time. Nothing he could see. Or feel. Or believe.

Dean knew he had to get past the image that the Aswang had presented in order to accept what he had done. Because what he had done was right. He hadn't killed a person. He had killed a creature. A creature that had been terrorizing the town. Preying on innocent people. A creature just like dozens of others he had killed. Without feeling any remorse at all.

So why did this one feel so different?

Dean opened his eyes and stared into the cell. At the spot where the deputy had fallen. But there was nothing there. Nothing but a pile of dust. The deputy had vanished and it was as if he had never even really been there. And what Dean had done had never really happened. It was all part of a bad dream.

Only he knew it wasn't.

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He felt his heartbeat begin to subside. His agitation disappear. His guilt recede. He picked up the gun and held it firmly in his hand. He tossed it around in his hand to get the feel of it again. And, as he did that, he felt his confidence return. Until he knew he could do it again. That he'd be able to kill as many of those creatures as he had to - without hesitation. And he knew he was going to have to. For Sammy's sake.

He stood up, still staring into the empty cell, and shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans. Then, without hesitation, he turned and strode off to find his father. He walked steadily up to the front desk, stopping only when he came up behind his father and the sheriff.

"He dead?" asked John, without even bothering to turn around.

"Yes Sir."

"Good."

Both the curtness and brevity of that exchange between John and his son gave the sheriff tremendous insight into their relationship. John issued orders. And they were followed. No questions asked. No explanations given. Mistakes weren't tolerated. There was no coddling. No recognition. No room for emotions. Not for a difficult job. Nor for a job well done. He guessed that it had to be that way because of the lifestyle they led. Still, he couldn't believe that it was easy on either one of them.

"I think you might find this interesting," the sheriff announced, as he pulled the addresses of the names that John had given him off the computer. "Seems every one of them lives on Ricker Street. It's a dead-end at the far side of town."

"Well, that makes sense," replied John. "They'd congregate together to avoid arousing suspicion. And it's better for us too, because we'll know where they'll all be. We won't have to worry about trying to locate any of them in a different area of town. And we can stay together to fight them."

"Are we going there now?" asked Dean hopefully.

John glanced over at his oldest son, "Not yet. It's still too early."

"What do you mean it's too early?" shot back Dean angrily.

"Dean, you're just gonna have to trust me on this. Okay? And try to remember that Sammy's just as important to me as he is to you. And getting him out unharmed is my top priority."

Dean sighed but he didn't say anything. It wasn't like he really had a choice in the matter anyway.

"And here's another thing," mentioned Sheriff Durham, "The Wallaces. They have a son, Martin." Glancing at Dean he asked, "You know him?"

"Marty? Yeah, I know him," stated Dean. "He was at Robin's place last night. And the first guy I clobbered. It figures he'd be one of them."

"Why?" asked John.

"Nothin'. He's just a member of Robin's little entourage, that's all. Too bad Marty chose him as a friend instead of a meal. Woulda saved me a whole lotta trouble. And served the little bastard right."

"Dean, that's enough," cautioned John, completely unimpressed with his son's little rant. "Nobody deserves that. And you know it."

Hoping to dispel any further disparity between John and his son, Sheriff Durham hastily injected, "Well, his father's a member of town council and they live two doors down from the Rennicks."

"Who lives between them?" asked John.

"That'd be Chief Nevins - from the fire department."

"They've sure done a great job ensconcing themselves into your town's hierarchy," replied John, shaking his head. "What we could really use, would be some pictures of these people so we can get some idea of what they look like before we have to confront them. Ensure that we're going after the right people."

"I think there's some pamphlets in my office that town council issued right after the last election. I'm pretty sure there are pictures of all the town officials in them," stated the sheriff. "It won't help you with any of the others though."

"Well, we already know who the nurse and the doctor are." Noting the confused look that Dean threw him, John elaborated, "Dr. Hardy's the doctor who tended to both you and Sam last night."

Dean nodded hesitantly as he tried to conjure up a mental picture of the man before he looked at his father and said, "The deputy mentioned a teacher at the high school - Ms. Latimer. I know her."

"One of your teachers?" asked John inquisitively.

"Was. 'Til I dropped her course."

"When'd you do that?"

"Second week we were here. Didn't like the course outline. Didn't think much of her either. Now I know why."

Both John and Dean followed the sheriff into his office where he rummaged through the top drawer of his desk. It only took a moment for him to find the pamphlet.

"Here," stated the sheriff, laying down the pamphlet and pointing to a photograph, "That's the major. And there's Ian Wallace, Marty's dad." Then he flipped the pamphlet over to discover two more pictures that would help them. One was of the mayor and his wife and the other was a group photo of the fire department. "It's a little hazy," commented the sheriff as he pointed them out, "But that's Chief Nevins. And that guy way in the back is Tony Matthews."

Dean carefully scrutinized the picture before he said, "That's the guy that was following me this morning."

"So, that just leaves four - the two paramedics and the butcher and his wife," remarked John. "And one of them has to be the guy that attacked me. Leaves us with three unknowns."

Sheriff Durham looked at his watch. "Well, the butchery should open in about twenty minutes. Frank and his wife should be there today. They usually work Saturdays. But if they're not, there's a photograph of them behind the counter. It was taken for some business award or something. You can identify them from that."

"Good. Dean and I will head over there - after we retrieve his car from the towing compound."

"Anything I can do while you're gone?" queried the sheriff.

"You could try to find out who's missing. Pinpoint which ones we've killed. Of the five we've killed so far, one was the deputy and the other, the mayor's wife. But we don't know who the others were. It could help us figure out exactly who's left. And who the biggest threats are going to be."

"Consider it done."

"Dad...When we're going to get Sam?" interrupted Dean anxiously.

"Later this afternoon. After we get some sleep."

"_Sleep?_" reiterated Dean in disbelief.

Yeah...sleep," retaliated John bluntly before he turned his attention back to the sheriff. "Dean and I will go do our thing before we head back to the motel and we can meet you back here around 3:00. That'll still give us plenty of time to do a complete survey of the neighborhood and rescue Sammy."

"You're kidding, right?" protested Dean. "We aren't_ really _gonna wait until three o'clock to do something? You don't actually expect me to be able to sleep before then?"

"Dean, I really wish you'd stop fighting me on this," sighed John in exasperation, "Because, believe it or not, I do have Sammy's best interests at heart. And, if you think you're going to accompany me on this hunt, you need to get some rest. I won't bring you along if there's any chance you could pass out again."

"But Dad…"

"No Dean...no 'buts.' Just stop arguing and do it my way or I'll just have the sheriff lock you back in that cell. You can get your sleep in there and sit this one out altogether. Is that what you want?"

"No Sir."

"Good" replied John curtly as he headed toward the door. Holding the door open, he turned back toward Dean and commanded, "Let's go."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam awoke with a start. When he opened his eyes it took a few minutes for him to realize that he wasn't at the motel. And as the realization hit him, he sprang off the bed and slowly glanced around the room hoping to recognize something to help him figure out where he was. But nothing in the room was even remotely familiar. He tried to remember how he could possibly have ended up here. But, no matter how hard he tried, the only thing he could remember was falling asleep in the motel room. He had no idea how he had ended up here.

Wherever 'here' was.

Sam wandered over to the window and cautiously looked out the window, hoping that he might recognize something on the outside to give him some idea of where he was. But he didn't recognize anything at all and the only thing he knew for sure was that he was on the second storey of a house in a residential neighborhood.

Somewhere.

He wondered if maybe Rick and his brother had abducted him again. Except for the fact that this house obviously wasn't the same one he'd been in yesterday. And, he didn't think they risk taking him to their home. But where else could he be?

Sam wandered over to the door to see if, by chance, it was unlocked. As he placed his hand over the doorknob, he listened carefully for any noises coming from the other side. But there was nothing. It was quiet. Almost a deathly quiet. And when Sam tried to open the door, he found that it was indeed locked.

He spun around and let his back slam against the wall and immediately jarred his injured shoulder. He grimaced against the pain before he once again glanced around his makeshift prison. It was a pretty standard bedroom; bed, bedside table, dresser, closet, a chair in the corner. But it looked unlived in. There was nothing on the dresser and only a lamp on the bedside table. Hoping that there might be something in one of the drawers to help him figure out where he was – or who was holding him - Sam went to the dresser and quietly opened each drawer. But they were all empty.

Hopeful that the closet might contain something, he checked it with the same result. Sam stood in the middle of the room trying to figure out where he was. It was either a model home or a guestroom in someone's house. But whose? And whoever had brought him here knew enough to cover their tracks and not leave any damning evidence behind.

Or anything he could use to free himself.

There were two ways out of the room; through the window or through the door. But there wasn't a keyhole in the doorknob and Sam despairingly realized that it was a privacy lock. Only this one had been installed to keep people in, not out.

Wondering if maybe he could escape through the window, he walked quietly over to it. But, the outside wall just went straight down. There were no dormers or any other extensions jutting out from the front wall – except the garage. And it was on the other side of the house. There wasn't anything he could use to climb on or to help break his fall if he tried to go out the window.

So, the only possible way out of the room was through the door. And right into the house and maybe, his captor's waiting arms. Still, Sam wasn't about to just sit around and do nothing so he began to search for anything he might be able to use to release the catch or unscrew the hinges.

But just as he moved away from the window, Sam suddenly began to feel very dizzy and extremely lightheaded. The room started to spin and he shook his head and blinked a couple of times, trying to bring it back into focus; but it just kept getting worse. He needed to lie down for a few minutes. Just until it went away. So he staggered hazily toward the bed and managed to fall across it just before he lost consciousness.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John drove to the towing yard and, although he wasn't overly happy about it, he paid the bill to retrieve Dean's car. If it hadn't been for the fact that they were going to need both vehicles, he would have left it there and told Dean he'd have to figure out some way to earn the money and pay for it himself. But, there just wasn't time for that.

Luckily the only damage to the Impala had been to the front bumper and Dean was able to drive it out of the compound. After they left the towing yard, they traversed across town to the butcher shop and they were somewhat amused to see a note on the door stating that the store would be closed for the day due to a death in the family.

"Imagine that," quipped Dean, "Sentimental supernatural creatures."

"At least we know that they're assembling together. That they're planning to mount a unified front when we go to get your brother. It won't leave us guessing as to where any of them are."

"Yeah Dad, that's a real comforting thought. We'll just be completely outnumbered right from the get-go."

Even though the store was closed, John still wanted to check out the photograph of the owners. He walked around the building to locate a side or rear door. As soon as he found the back entrance, he did what he always did in similar circumstances; he broke in.

After disarming the security system, which had to be the oldest one he had ever seen, John preceded into the building with Dean following him. They crept up to the front of the store, constantly mindful of the windows, where they found the photograph the sheriff had told them about. They took a quick look at it, instilling the images to memory before they exited the store exactly as they had entered.

Against every one of his instincts that told him this was wrong, Dean followed his father back to the motel. He couldn't believe that his father was actually going to wait to go after Sammy and couldn't help but feel that, the longer they waited, the more planning the Aswang would have time to do. And besides that, what if something went wrong and it ended up taking them longer to get to Sammy than his father thought it would? Or they decided to move him somewhere else? Waiting until 3:00, meant they'd only have a limited time to rescue Sammy and kill them all before night fell.

And then it would be real fun.

But he also knew that he wasn't calling the shots. And he couldn't go after his brother on his own. Dad had gotten them out of tough situations before and Dean hoped that he really did know what he was doing. He was just going to have to trust his father.

And pray that nothing went wrong.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He heard the boy moving upstairs. Even though he was trying to be extremely quiet. The boy obviously didn't know just how good his hearing was. But it didn't matter; the boy wasn't going to escape. Because he simply wouldn't be awake for that long. The poison would take effect again in a few minutes and he'd be out like a light. And stay that way for the next couple of hours. Which would give him enough time to gather all of them together and finish formulating their plan. And this one wouldn't fail.

It couldn't fail. Not unless they wanted to ruin everything they had accomplished. And everything that he had achieved for them.

He had calculated everything accurately to get where he was and he wasn't about to let some worrisome two-bit hunter and his sons ruin it for him. He had targeted this town as a plentiful hunting ground and quickly realized that it could be far more beneficial to his species if they amalgamated themselves into the human's culture. So he had taken up residence here and worked hard to gain the people's trust and when he had campaigned for mayor, he had been victorious. And that's when he knew the town really belonged to him.

To him and his kind.

He had continued to endear himself to the people; pretending that he had their best interest in mind. He strove to increase the population by actively seeking out companies that would be interesting in locating plants and offices in this town. And with the increase in commercial trade, came an increase in the town's population. More strangers moved to town; people less likely to be missed when they inexplicably disappeared.

All in all, it was a good deal all around.

Until that hunter showed up. Somehow or another he had discovered what they really were. He wasn't fooled by the stories of wild animals run amok as the town encroached on the surrounding countryside. He had successfully pinpointed areas where they sought their prey and even knew what it took to kill them.

He was unlike any human he had ever encountered.

And he had managed to thwart all their efforts to eliminate him until now. But now things were different. There was no way he would thwart them this time. Because this time he would be fighting on their turf. Under their rules. Against all of them. And that would be his downfall.

He knew the hunter would come. He had to. To rescue his son. He would have already learned who had taken his youngest child from the innkeeper. It had been planned that way and was the only reason the man had been left alive. Otherwise, he would have killed him. But the plan had been to get the boy in order to entice the hunter to them. Which meant that he had to know who had taken the boy. So the innkeeper had unwittingly played two vital roles in their plan. And now it was foolproof.

And even though the hunter would bring the other son and the sheriff with him, they would not be strong enough to combat them all. Not once they reverted to their nocturnal form. The hunter wouldn't realize that he had walked into a deadly trap until it was too late. He wouldn't be prepared to take all of them on. And he had no way of knowing that every resident of this street would be involved in the skirmish. That not a single one of them was really human. That he would be fighting them all.

He glanced out the window to see that the others were beginning to arrive. Now they would begin the final preparation. And wait for the hunter to arrive so the battle could begin. The taste of victory would be sweet. It would taste like the organs and blood of the hunter and his children.

And that thought inspired him. Perhaps he didn't really need the boy after all. Not alive anyway.

Perhaps it would be better to kill him before the hunter arrived.


	47. Chapter 47

Dean tossed and turned for the better part of two hours. But it didn't matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get to sleep. It didn't help that the room was quiet - too quiet - which only accentuated the fact that Sammy wasn't there. Usually he fell asleep listening to the sound of his brother's rhythmic breathing as he slept somewhere nearby. And while they had been staying in this motel, the two of them had been sharing a bed. And as Dean lay alone on their bed, he regretfully realized that he had been constantly bickering about it from the moment they moved in. He was always on Sammy's case about taking too much room, moving around too much, hogging the blankets, stealing his pillow and basically just being a pain in the ass.

But now Dean realized just how much he missed his brother.

Deciding that he simply wasn't going to fall asleep, Dean flipped onto his back and put his hands behind his head. He glanced over at his father's bed, thankful that the man was sleeping. If he knew that Dean hadn't slept a wink during the past two hours, there was no way in hell he'd ever let him go on this hunt.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, mulling over the things they had learned. The deputy told them that there were thirteen of them - but he hadn't included the mayor and his wife - which upped the total to fifteen. And that was providing that he hadn't "forgotten" to mention anyone else. Dean thought his father should have pushed the man harder for more names, instead of just taking his word for it; after all, he'd omitted names once so what was to stopping him from doing it again. Unless his father knew something that he hadn't bothered to share with anyone else. And that was entirely possible. And more than probable seeing as it was his father; he usually adhered to the need-to-know theory.

But, supposing the information was accurate, that still left them ten creatures to deal with. Three against ten. Not the best odds, especially when you considered their opponents. The Aswang were more perverse and reprehensible than any creature they had ever encountered before. They looked, acted and spoke like humans. And they could do everything a human being could do.

Which included firing weapons.

At least at night they didn't have that option.

But Dean understood why his father wanted to rescue Sammy during the day. The creatures couldn't eat in human form, which meant that they'd be less likely to tear his brother to pieces if things weren't going well for them. They still preferred a fresh kill over something that had been dead for any length of time.

But what he didn't understand was why his father wanted to wait so long. He could appreciate the fact that the Aswangs were simply using Sammy as bait and that there was a real possibility they'd hurt him in order to keep them at arms length until sundown. But that was going to be true whether they went in now or at 3:00 p.m. And wasn't the plan to kill all of them anyway? So waiting didn't make sense. It would be better to go in now and get it over with. And have plenty of time to spare. At least in Dean's humble opinion.

Dean sighed. He just couldn't understand his father's reasoning. No matter how he looked at it.

"Come on, Sport. You really gotta get some sleep," uttered John wearily.

Dean turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow before he responded, "I wish I could, Dad. But I can't. I've tried. I just can't get to sleep knowing Sammy's out there and needs our help."

"Well, you'd help him a lot more by getting some sleep to so you can actually make it through this fight without passing out. You've already had a tough week. And it's gonna get a lot tougher before it's over."

"I know that, Dad but I just can't stop thinkin' about Sammy. And then my mind starts racing and I can't fall asleep."

"Well, you better figure out some way to get to sleep. Because I wasn't kidding when I said you wouldn't be coming if you don't get some rest. I can't be worrying about what might happen to you while I'm in the middle of this fight. I'm gonna have my hands full enough and I just can't afford to be distracted. I need to focus entirely on what I'm doing. And, if you're involved, I need to know that you're gonna be where you're supposed to be, doin' what you're supposed to be doin'. I can't have any doubts lingering in the back of my mind about you losing consciousness again. Can you understand that?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good. Then you better get some sleep if you want to come along."

Dean lay back down, turning his back to his father and staring at the wall. There was no point arguing with the man; he just wasn't going to win. He never did. He might as well just pretend that he was sleeping. If he just lay still enough his father wouldn't be able to tell the difference and then he'd stop threatening to make him stay at the motel. Dean glanced discreetly at his watch. It was 11:45 a.m. Still over three hours to go. And his father probably wouldn't get up much before 2:00 in order to get everything ready. Dean sighed and closed his eyes.

How was he going to survive the next two hours?

"Dean. Wake up."

Dean fought to open his eyes. He couldn't remember falling asleep and he blinked a few times to shake off the remaining fatigue. And he regretfully realized that he was more tired than he had been all week. He lay on the bed, trying desperately to work up the energy to actually get up. He glanced at his watch: 2:00

"Dean. Get up. We have things to do."

"Okay, Dad. I'm comin'. Just wakin' up, that's all," replied Dean sullenly as he swung his legs off the bed and sat up.

"I already let you sleep longer than I should have," stated John. "But I figured you needed the sleep more than I needed the help gathering the weapons. But now you gotta get a move on. Because I wanna be outta here in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes? I thought we weren't meeting the sheriff until three?"

"We aren't. But I wanna swing by Ricker Street first."

That was all Dean needed to hear to get up. Five minutes later he had joined his father outside at the back of his truck.

John scrutinized his eldest son. "You feelin' okay?"

"Never better."

"Ya know," replied John not at all convinced by his son's response, "I've warned you before about lyin' to me."

Dean didn't even bother to respond. And John didn't pursue the matter.

"We're not playing games on this hunt. There's no rock salt. Just bullets." Indicating a cluster of seven guns separated into three piles, he elaborated, "These guns are all loaded. And I've divided up the extra bullets" He pointed to the pile containing three guns and a stack of spare bullets. "You take those."

Noting that the other two piles contained only two guns each, Dean asked uncertainly, "How come I get three?"

"Because one's for Sammy."

"I'm going in for Sammy?"

"Yep."

"Not that I don't want to, but...why am I goin'?"

"Because they'll be expecting me to do it myself. So I'm sending you in instead."

"Cool."

"No, Dean. It's not cool. It's dangerous. Because, in all likelihood, you're gonna have to square off against Rennick. And Sammy's gonna be with you. So you need to be extremely vigilant."

"Yes Sir," replied Dean keenly; now he understood why his father had been so insistent that he get some rest.

John turned and looked sternly at his eldest son. "Your only objective is to go in, get Sammy and get the hell outta there. If Rennick tries to stop you, kill him. But don't go lookin' for him. You're to focus solely on getting Sammy outta there safely. Anyone else happens to cross your path, shoot them too. But I don't want you stopping to hunt down anyone else. You get Sammy and you come right back here. And both of you are stay here. You got that?"

"Yes Sir."

"I mean it, Dean. No leaving Sammy alone this time. And no gettin' him in any more danger either. You come back here and stay locked in the room. And you don't leave until I get back. That's an order. Understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good," stated John abruptly. "Now, we gotta go. You're gonna drive your car to the movie theatre and leave it there for now. We'll go to Ricker Street together. After we're done casing the neighborhood, we'll double-back for your car before we meet up with Sheriff Durham."

Dean nodded while he hastily grabbed the three guns his father had assigned to him. He strapped one to his right leg, tucked one into the waistband of his jeans and put the third one into his jacket pocket, removing his keys at the same time. Then he got in his car and followed his father's truck out of the parking lot.

They drove cautiously through town, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone who might be trailing them. Or for any sign of anyone they would recognize as an Aswang. But the drive was uneventful and they rendezvoused as planned at the movie theatre. Dean parked the Impala and hurriedly jumped into his father's truck.

As Dean swung the passenger door shut, John pulled away and they drove in silence toward their destination; each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. As they approached the tiny subdivision that was home to their current foes, John slowed the truck and meandered casually through the streets that led to Ricker Street. He wanted to ensure that he was familiar with the street-plan of the entire subdivision in order to ascertain both his strategy and that of his opponents.

He wasn't overly worried about having to confront them too far away from their own houses, figuring that they wouldn't stray too far from Ricker Street because they wouldn't want to alert their unsuspecting neighbors to what was going on. Or to what they really were either. Because their plan would be to fend them off until nightfall when they could begin their assailment in their bestial forms.

Likewise, John really didn't want to get anyone else involved. Not only would it endanger more human lives, he was also sure the townspeople would be quick to rally together in order to aid and protect their elected officials. Because as long as they remained in human form, they would elicit support from their neighbors. And even after dark, the truth would be too outlandish for people to accept.

John drove leisurely through the well-kept streets until he came to Ricker Street. He stopped the truck without bothering to turn onto the street and sat staring down the deceptively ordinary cul-de-sac. It was a rather unremarkable street with bland, commonplace houses; not really where you'd expect the well-to-do town officials to live. But, knowing the truth about the street's occupants, John wasn't at all surprised. After all, these weren't humans trying to impress other humans; they were creatures trying only to blend into their environment. They simply didn't possess the unsavory human traits of greed and conceit.

John was pleased to discover that Ricker Street was actually on the outer edge of the subdivision. Whether the town just hadn't expanded past this point or the mayor had vetoed any further development beyond this street was unclear. But it didn't really matter and as far was John was concerned it was something he could use to his advantage during the day. But he also knew it would be an entirely different story once night fell because the Aswang would be able to hide in the dense foliage. But, in human form, the vegetation wouldn't help them nearly as much.

But it would provide excellent coverage for Dean to gain access to Rennick's house. As well as a perfect escape route.

Ricker Street was a typical modern dead-end with houses spaced evenly apart on both sides of the road ending in wide circular turnabout so cars could turn around to go back down the street. And, of course the house at the far end in the middle of the turnabout belonged to Mayor Rennick.

Glancing quickly at Dean, John motioned toward the mayor's house, "That's Rennick's. You'll be able to get to it through those woods. And once you get Sammy, you can cut through them to make your escape."

"So all I really have to do is find a safe place to leave my car," replied Dean as he carefully scouted the edge of the blanketed woods.

"And I'm going to leave you to do that on your own. I don't want to drive around much more. I'm sure our presence hasn't gone unnoticed. And I don't want to give them any leads as to what we're planning to do."

"Not a problem, Dad. I can do this."

"I know you can, Dean. That's why I'm letting you do it. I'm counting on you. And so is Sammy."

John put the truck into gear and quickly drove Dean back to the movie theatre to get the Impala. He waited while Dean got into his vehicle and started it before he drove off toward the sheriff's station.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

From his seat at the far end of the table, he was able to maintain an unobstructed view of the entire street. And, even though he was presiding over this useless meeting, his attention was actually focused elsewhere. Outside to be exact. Because he was vigilantly watching for the hunter.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before the hunter showed. He was more than a little surprised that he hadn't arrived before now. But one thing he had learned in his dealings with humans was that they were a highly unpredictable species. And, seeing as this human was so dissimilar to any other human he had ever before encountered, he guessed that he really shouldn't be that surprised. After all, he knew he would come. That much was certain. He simply wasn't going to leave his youngest offspring in their clutches. Because he knew the fate that would await him.

And that was what was causing the current squabble at the table. The others were bickering when they should kill the boy. Most of them wanted to dispense with him now, but he knew that waiting was the most prudent option. Because there were still too many hours of daylight remaining.

And because the hunter had yet to show his face.

He had momentarily entertained the idea of killing the child before the hunter arrived. But then he had thought better of it. Simply because the hunter possessed both skill and intelligence. And if they prematurely killed the boy it was entirely possible that they would lose a valuable bargaining chip. Should it happen to come down to that.

So he had decided that the child would remain alive.

For now.

Besides, there were other matters to attend to. Completing their strategy was the most urgent. And, although the others thought they were playing a vital role, the truth was far different. Because all he really needed them for was a diversion. Something to exhaust the hunter and deplete his ammunition.

The hunter would have to make it past all of the others first. Before he made it to him. Or to his son. And although it was possible that he could succeed in doing that, the likelihood was miniscule at best. Oh, he would certainly kill a few of the others. Because what battle was ever without casualties? But they were all expendable. And replaceable. There were others that could easily take their places. And ingrain themselves into the human's society just as these ones had done.

The most important thing was that he survive. He had to. In order to maintain his dominance in the community. Both that of his own species and of the humans. All of his hard work couldn't go to waste.

Because this was still the perfect hunting ground.

And he wasn't about to let that tiresome hunter ruin it all.

Just as the final preparations were being carefully construed, he finally caught a glimpse of the hunter. Sitting in his vehicle at the very end of the street. Looking down the street towards them. And not even bothering to try to remain unseen.

He wondered if perhaps the hunter was taking this a little too flippantly. Maybe the hunter was smarter than he was giving him credit for. But he dismissed that idea as quickly as it had come to him.

After all, he was only a human.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John turned into the parking lot behind the sheriff's station and parked directly behind the building. As he prepared to exit the vehicle Dean pulled the Impala into the spot beside him and they proceeded into the station together.

John walked through the front door and he was somewhat surprised to see a female deputy sitting behind the desk. As they approached the desk the officer looked up and informed them that the sheriff was expecting them and they could go ahead into his office. With a slight smile intended to convey his thanks, John walked past the deputy and headed toward the sheriff's office with Dean following close behind.

Seeing them approach, Sheriff Durham motioned for them to enter his office before they had a chance to knock on his closed door. John walked in first and held the door open for Dean before he shut it again in order to maintain some privacy. Both Winchesters took seats across from the sheriff.

"That deputy?" asked John, his concern evident regarding her real identity.

"She's my niece," replied the sheriff, not feeling the need to elaborate further.

Satisfied by the sheriff's answer, John turned the conversation to the matter at hand.

"Dean and I just came from Ricker Street and I think we'll be able to use its isolation to our advantage. Dean will be able to go through the woods to get to Rennick's house while we mount our offensive from the street. That'll also provide cover for Dean while he goes in to get Sammy."

"Dean's going in for your other son?" asked the sheriff. "Wouldn't it be a better idea for you to do it?"

"No. Simply because that's what they'll be expecting. And they're gonna assume that we'll all arrive together so I'm hoping that, when they realize that Dean isn't with us, they'll think I decided against having him involved."

"You don't think that's a bit of a stretch?"

"Not really. They've already got Sammy so when we show up without Dean, they'll assume I don't want to risk his safety too. Remember, they're not human so they're not gonna think like we do. In fact, they're more apt to conclude that we'll act just like they would. And they're gonna be very confident in their ability to outwit and overpower us, believing that we know that too. So when they notice there's only two of us, it'll mistakenly boost their confidence. And cause them to let their guard down a bit."

"You figure they'll focus all their attention on us which will leave Dean free to sneak in from the back way."

"Exactly."

"But, isn't that forcing Dean to deal with Rennick?"

"I can handle him," injected Dean confidently, "He's only one guy."

"Yeah, I realize that," conceded the sheriff reluctantly, "But I doubt he's a lightweight in any category. He's managed to successfully infiltrate himself into our society and been able to pass himself off as human - for quite a few years too. And he's gotta hold an equivalent level of power within his own species. Which can't have happened without some sort of conflict or confrontation. He's certainly not gonna be a pushover."

Although Dean realized that the sheriff was probably only concerned for his wellbeing, he was still somewhat offended by the man's apparent lack of confidence in him and his ability. But he did try to keep the irritation out of his voice when he replied, "I have done this before, you know. It's not my first time."

Before Sheriff Durham could respond, John commenced, "As soon as Rennick sees us, he'll give the signal for the rest of them to come out and head us off. And he'll be watching to see what happens. If he feels we're making too much headway against the rest of them, he'll start to think about bringing Sammy out to stop us. He'll try to use him to hold us off until nightfall. But, as long as we simply maintain our position without actually appearing to be overtaking them, Rennick will be content to sit back and watch. And when we do begin to attack in earnest, Dean will have already gotten Sammy to safety."

"But what if he's keeping your son with him and decides to parade him out in front of us before Dean's even had a chance to get in?"

"Well, if that's his plan, then he'll definitely be focused entirely on the battle. He won't be anticipating Dean's involvement at all. And, therefore, won't be expecting him to sneak up behind him. So it would be entirely possible that Dean would be able to kill him without Rennick even knowing he's there."

"You don't think he'll keep another Aswang with him? Just in case he thinks this type of scenario might play out?"

"No. It simply won't occur to him."

"How can you be so sure about all of this?"

"Because of our previous encounters with them. All their attempts to stop us have been extremely straightforward. They come up with a plan and when it doesn't work, they regroup and formulate another one. They've never had any sort of backup plan. The first attack on Dean was completely solitary. Then they had three of them ambush me at Brewer Park while another one attacked Dean here in one of your cells. And your deputy, who was an Aswang, didn't even stick around to help out his buddy just in case something went wrong. Their attacks on us this morning showed little more foresight. They only had one Aswang cover each of us. And that was after they already knew we could thwart them. But they still think they can outsmart us. They're not going to start thinking differently now."

"Well, I certainly hope you're right," stated the sheriff, "Because I'm still a bit apprehensive about this entire plan."

"I expect you to be," admitted John. "I'd be more worried if you weren't."

"I suppose I should find that comforting," replied the sheriff.

John grinned. Then he finished detailing his plan, telling Dean that he wanted him to go back to the motel when he left the sheriff's station. If Rennick had anyone watching them, they'd be sure to see him leave and draw the assumption that John was making him stay out of the fight. And even if they followed him to verify where he was going, as soon as they determined that he'd gone back to the safety of the motel room, they'd be in a hurry to get back to Ricker Street in order to aid the others.

John and the sheriff would leave the station and head directly to Ricker Street; but they weren't going to initiate a confrontation right away. They'd drive slowly around the neighborhood, taking extra time to traverse Ricker Street to give their enemy ample time to monitor their movements. That would also enable Dean to drive across town before they engaged the Aswang. All John intended to do for the better part of the first hour was to stave off their enemy; they weren't going to kill more than one or two of them during that time. He wanted to lull them into a false sense of security as well as ensuring that Rennick felt confident in securing a victory.

At precisely 4:25 p.m. John and the sheriff were going to begin the legitimate offensive against the Aswang and, as soon as he heard the increase in the onslaught, Dean was to use that opportunity to get into Rennick's house as quickly as he could. John was giving him twenty minutes to get in, get Sammy and get the hell out of there. That was all the time they could spare.

John sternly reminded Dean yet again that as soon as he got Sammy out of the house, he was to go back to the motel. No heroics. And no showboating. Get Sammy to safety. That was it; that was all. John and the sheriff would take care of the remaining Aswangs. He reiterated to Dean the importance of the order and it stated firmly that it was nonnegotiable. No matter what happened. And there'd be a severe reprimand should he choose to ignore it.

Dean nodded. He'd already made more than a few mistakes where his brother was concerned since they'd moved to this town and he wasn't about to do it again. Besides, they'd fought similar battles with just the three of them; having Sheriff Durham on their side was a definite plus. And it made Dean a little less apprehensive about leaving his father to fight the Aswang without his involvement.

With their strategy effectively mapped out, the time had finally come to put their plan into action. It was 3:20 p.m. Which left them with just over two hours before dark fell. Plenty of time to achieve their goal.

After the three men had synchronized their watches, John looked at Dean and tilted his head in the direction of the door. "Get going."

No sooner were the words out of his father's mouth before Dean shot up and dashed out the door. He'd been itching to get going ever since they'd discovered that Sammy was missing and now that the time was finally here, he wasn't about to waste any more time sitting around. Especially seeing as he had to drive back to the motel first.

John and the sheriff watched him go before they too got up to leave. As they walked out to the main reception desk, the sheriff stopped to talk to the deputy on duty. He told her that he had some important business to take care of and under no circumstances was he to be disturbed or contacted. She was to disregard all calls or requests for police assistance regarding any type of disturbance or unusual activity near Meadow Creek subdivision, informing the caller politely they were aware of it and that it was official police business.

In response to the bewildered look she threw him, he told her that he was involved in a state-wide operation involving various law enforcement agencies and he simply wasn't at liberty to discuss it further. The confused deputy threw John a quick look, wondering what government agency he might work for. But she wisely refrained from asking any more questions.

Just as John and the sheriff turned to leave, the front door swung open and both men were more than a little peeved to see Greg Leavey walk into the station, blocking their exit.

"Greg," greeted the disgruntled sheriff with a sigh, "What are you doing here?"

Glancing quickly at John, the deputy-mayor answered, "I came down here to see if you've found my car yet?"

"Not yet. But there's an APB on it."

"That's all you've done? You haven't followed up on the leads I gave you?"

Sheriff Durham also glanced at John before he addressed the question, "None of it panned out."

"Nothing at all?" asked Greg Leavey unconvinced.

"That's what I said," snapped Sheriff Durham staring harshly at the deputy-mayor as if daring him to say anything else.

Undeterred by the sheriff's punitive gaze, Greg Leavey stared at John and continued, "Well, seeing as I'm here, I think I'd like to go ahead and have you press those charges against Mr. Winchester here."

"What charges would those be, Greg?" responded a very exasperated sheriff.

"For the assault and battery. At the hospital."

The sheriff closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again he cast an annoyed look at the deputy-mayor and stated, "Greg, I really don't have time for this right now

"Are you willfully neglecting your duties, Bob? Or just protecting this thug?" queried the deputy-mayor with a nod of his head toward John.

"It's not me who needs protecting," input John acrimoniously.

"Did you just threaten me?" beseeched the deputy-mayor incredulously.

"I didn't hear anything resembling a threat," injected Sheriff Durham before John could answer. "Now look Greg, I'm kinda in the middle of something important right now. We can address the charges later."

"And run the risk of this hooligan and his low-life family leaving town? I don't think so."

By this point, John had had enough. Greg Leavey was still standing in the doorway, blocking their exit so John strode boldly up to him and announced menacingly, "I'd get outta my way if I were you."

"Well, _that_ certainly sounded like a threat…wouldn't you agree, Bob?" retorted Mr. Leavey without moving an inch.

"Honestly, Greg…I didn't hear Mr. Winchester say anything," countered the sheriff as he walked around John and proceeded toward the door. "But, he's right. You should get outta the way."

With both the sheriff and John staring fiercely at him, Greg Leavey hesitantly took a step to the side. As the two men walked past him and exited the building he called after them, "You're gonna have to answer for this, Bob! It's not over! Not by a long shot!"

But neither John nor Sheriff Durham turned around or acknowledged him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean raced back to the motel; this plan was moving just a little too slow for his liking. He would have much preferred to have just headed back to Ricker Street. But he knew why he had to go back to the motel first.

He screeched the Impala to a stop right in front of the motel door and exited the vehicle with an exaggerated flourish, slamming the car door shut behind him. Then he proceeded into the motel in the same angry manner. Dean plopped himself down on the bed and looked at his watch. It was 3:35, giving him fifty minutes to get over to Ricker Street before he was to go in for his brother.

Dean knew he couldn't leave just yet; it would take him about fifteen minutes to drive across town. Even if it took him a few minutes to find an appropriate location to leave the Impala, he would still have too much time to spare. And that would mean that there was a greater chance he'd been seen. As much as he didn't want to, Dean knew he'd have to sit tight for at least another fifteen minutes.

So he grabbed the remote, swung his legs onto the bed, leaned back and turned on the TV. But no amount of channel surfing managed to ease his anxiety. Nor help the time pass. And there simply wasn't anything worth watching anyway. Finally, in total frustration, he turned it off. Tossing the remote onto the bed beside him, he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to relax.

But that also proved to be an exercise in futility.

Two minutes later, he was up and pacing impatiently around the room. And constantly looking at his watch.

3:42…

3:44…

3:45…

He sighed and sat down at the table by the window. He resisted the urge to pull the curtain back and see what was happened outside. If there was someone watching the room, he didn't want to give them any reason to think about sticking around. Instead, he folded his arms on the table and put his head down on top of them.

3:47…

Still a bit too early to leave. So he decided to complete a final check of his weapons before to help pass the time. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and checked the chamber: loaded with silver bullets just as his father had said. Then he repeated the procedure with the two remaining guns before he once again glanced at his watch.

3:51…

Finally.

Dean stood up and almost ran the measly few feet to the door. But he opened it cautiously, carefully checking for any sign that someone might be still be watching him. But there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary so he quickly strode out the door and jumped hurriedly into the Impala.

As he drove across town, Dean kept a vigilant eye out for anyone who might be following him. He even detoured through a few residential areas just to be sure. As he approached his destination, he intentionally veered away from Ricker Street, choosing instead to remain on the outer edge of the subdivision.

Dean glanced at his watch again: 4:06.

Perfect timing. He drove onto one of the backstreets closer to Ricker Street. He followed that street until he came to an adjoining one that also happened to border the forest, quickly determining it to be a good place for him to leave the car.

Dean parked the Impala at the far end of the street, as close as he could get to the wooded area. But he didn't get out of the car right away. He sat stoically in the vehicle, carefully scrutinizing the neighborhood for any sign of trouble. But it was amazingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon and his didn't see anything to cause him concern. So, with a relieved sigh, he got out of the Impala and dashed into the darkened thicket.


	48. Chapter 48

John eased up on the gas as he approached Ricker Street to let the sheriff's cruiser catch up to him. It was imperative that they arrive together. They had to ensure that the Aswangs' focus was directed entirely on them so that Dean's arrival in the subdivision went unnoticed. Because that was a vital part of their plan.

John glanced at his watch: 3:50 p.m. Time to begin their assault.

John pounded his foot down heavily on the gas pedal, instantly accelerating the truck as he turned sharply onto Ricker Street. The increased momentum threw the truck into a violent tailspin as it skidded around the corner before John slammed on the brakes, lurching the truck to an abrupt halt diagonally across the road with its front wheels pressed tightly to the curb. And while the truck was still rocking viciously on its wheels, Sheriff Durham duplicated John's maneuvers, careening his cruiser to a screeching stop just inches from the truck's back bumper so that the two vehicles were essentially blocking Ricker Street off from the rest of the subdivision.

And that was exactly what they wanted.

Simultaneously exiting their vehicles, John and Sheriff Durham emerged with their weapons drawn. After briefly establishing eye contact, they turned around to face the proposed battleground, both of them standing steadfastly behind the vehicular barricade as they scanned the street for any signs that their flamboyant arrival had elicited a reaction from their enemy. And within seconds a flurry of activity could be seen in the vicinity around Rennick's house. Still, neither John nor the sheriff moved; both of them intent on maintaining their current position. Because they were biding their time.

And enticing their enemy to come to them.

Because they knew they would. The Aswang would seek them out because that was their nature; they were predators. Predators that weren't content to play a waiting game. Not now that their prey was within reach. Now they would have no restraint. No willpower. Because they wanted their prey. And they wanted it now.

That was the big difference between hunters and predators.

And John and the sheriff were hunters.

Hunters who _were_ content to wait. Because waiting was all part of their plan. They intended to wait for however long it took their enemy to draw near. Because they were buying time. Time that was desperately needed for Dean to get Sam to safety. Time they would use to dissuade their foes and keep them at bay without actually doing anything to cause them concern.

And while they were toying with them, John and the sheriff would wield guns loaded with ordinary, everyday buckshot; there was no point wasting their silver bullets until the real battle commenced. So until then, regular bullets would suffice. Just while they kept their enemy distracted. Kept them occupied. Diverted their attention away from Dean. And lead them to believe that they were depleting their valuable ammunition.

So they watched and waited as the Aswang moved closer; ducking and dodging behind houses and around bushes and fences while they ventured toward them. They had no doubt been deployed under Rennick's orders. But these creatures weren't accustomed to stalking their prey while they were in human form. Nor were they used to hunting during the day. And their inexperience in both aspects showed. Their inept approach was about as clandestine as a herd of elephants parading across a barren desert. And if the circumstances hadn't been as serious as they were, their bumbling advancement would have been laughable. Their constrained footsteps and hushed whispers could easily be overheard, making it more than obvious that this was anything but a conventional hunt for them.

As the Aswang reached their designated positions, an eerie silence befell the entire area. It was almost as if some sort of impasse had been reached. But it was only the calm before the storm. An uncanny calm that was permanently interrupted when, from the corner of his eye, John glimpsed an almost indiscernible, split-second flash of light coming from the hedges just off to his left. At the same time, a loud, unmistakable blast of gunfire emanated from the other side of the road, irrevocably breaking the artificial tranquility that had momentarily surrounded them

John wrenched his body quickly to the left, skillfully firing into the bushes where he had witnessed the short-lived flash. Caught off-guard by John's unprovoked actions, the would-be saboteur leapt haphazardly from the shrubbery to a more secure location behind the house, dropping his weapon in his flight. Which proved to John once again just how cowardly the Aswang really were.

While John dealt successfully with that prospective assailant, Sheriff Durham sought out the location of the gunman on the opposite side of the road. And it didn't take him long to find him; crouched on the far side of a house on the right-hand side of the street, preparing to shoot again. But, before he had a chance to get a second shot off, Sheriff Durham fired back at him. Panic quickly washed over the man's face as the bullet narrowly missed his shoulder. But, it had been a calculated move on Sheriff Durham's part as he had purposely shot wide and it was only for that reason that the gunman escaped with his life.

And just as he discharged his weapon, the sheriff pinpointed another shooter targeting him from behind a fence. Pivoting quickly toward him, Sheriff Durham fired off a single shot that nicked the astonished man's gun, causing him to drop it and leaving him defenseless and vulnerable. Sheriff Durham fired again and the man retreated behind the fence and out of sight.

Meanwhile John was engaged in a good old-fashioned gunfight against numerous opponents, which had begun only moments after he had dispensed of the gunman in the bushes. An ill-aimed shot had blasted past him from further up the cul-de-sac. And as John tried to ferret out this new adversary, a second shot whizzed past him from a completely different angle. Glancing quickly in the direction from which that shot had come, John immediately spotted the exposed shooter standing in the driveway of the second house up the street. With all the dexterity of a seasoned professional, John whipped his arm around and fired at him, providing the initial gunman with an open and uncontested shot at him.

But John immediately swung his arm back toward that gunman, shooting continuously. The barrage of bullets splaying towards him distracted John's nemesis and he lost his focus, resulting in his next shot going astray. But just as John leveled his gun on the man and pulled the trigger, a hail of gunfire rained down on him from a second storey window in a nearby house. Ducking hurriedly behind the truck, John extracted the now-spent cartridge from his pistol and replaced it with a new one while Sheriff Durham spun around and opened fire on the snipers, expertly warding them off with a rapid-fire onslaught of bullets.

Still crouched behind the truck, John glanced up just in time to see another gunman zeroing in on the sheriff's back. John promptly hoisted his pistol and fired. His shot hit the assailant on the shoulder and he momentarily staggered backwards. When he regained his balance, he glanced at his injured shoulder before he once again took aim at the two humans behind the truck. Knowing that the man had discovered that the bullets they were using weren't fatal to him, John made a spur-of-the-moment decision and grabbed the gun from the waistband of his jeans. As he hastily fired at his opponent, John hurled himself onto the ground to avoid being hit by the returning gunshot.

But the rival gunman wasn't nearly as insightful and the bullet from John's gun struck him squarely in the chest, immediately beginning its caustic decimation of its victim. With the silver bullet mercilessly eating away at his body, the unfortunate assailant realized his inevitable plight and dropped his gun to clutch desperately at his torso. But there was nothing he could do to stop the bullet from painfully lacerating his insides and his agony ended only when he finally burst into a million little pieces.

A momentary lapse in fighting occurred immediately after the annihilation of the first victim of this war as the stark reality of the situation burned into all the combatants' minds. This wasn't a game; they were playing for keeps. And it was a fight to the finish. But as expected, the ceasefire didn't last and within seconds the air was once again filled with the heavy reverberation of gunfire.

But the lull had lasted just long enough for John to stand up and he swiftly joined Sheriff Durham in the newly reinstated battle. The sheriff had successfully quashed the assault from the window, but the gunman at the far end of the street had remained unchallenged and had fired off a few sporadic shots at the sheriff. But his aim was faulty due not only to the distance involved but also because he had never before been involved in this type of battle. Nor had he ever brandished a weapon of any kind either.

But John's hadn't forgotten about him and, as he rose to his feet, he spied the gunman in the distance and immediately opened fired. The shot missed its target just as John had intended but it hadn't been far enough off the mark to be deemed ineffective. Because as the bullet zipped past him, the humanoid Aswang reeled backwards before he too turned tail and ran.

Meanwhile, Sheriff Durham had spotted another combatant lurking behind a tree midway up the street. Intent on simply intimidating him, the sheriff aimed at the tree and discharged his weapon. An earsplitting shot filled the air as the bullet penetrated the tree, startling the perpetrator standing behind it and, without even attempting to shoot back, the frightened being twirled around and raced back to the safety of the house. And as he ran, Sheriff Durham sprayed a continuous bombardment of bullets at the ground just behind his fleeing heels.

John's attention was now focused on a semi-concealed opponent hiding inside a garage. The gunman was obviously unaware that his position had been made and he was caught by surprise when a bullet torpedoed loudly into the side of the garage. But, unlike most of his fellow warriors, he actually managed to maintain his focus and retaliate with a well-aimed shot that just barely missed John's head. John had dodged the bullet by instinctively crouching behind the truck and as soon as it had soared harmlessly past him, he once again fired at his opponent; this time hitting him in the leg.

As the anguished man recoiled inside the garage, the shrill buzz of the alarm on John's watch sounded; its welcome resonation informing both John and the sheriff that it was now 4:25. And that meant that it was time to stop fooling around. Both men quickly discarded their current weapons in favor of more formidable firearms. Ones that would easily kill their opponents.

Praying that Dean had successfully made it into position, John cocked his gun, this time aiming accurately at the closest Aswang. And from the corner of his eye, he could see Sheriff Durham do the same.

It was time to end this war.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean crept through the disheveled undergrowth, cautiously making his way toward Ricker Street. He moved slowly and deliberately, listening intensely for any indication that he was being followed while he also watched fervently for any sign of movement. But the only discernible movement came from the leaves as the wind rustled quietly through them and the only sounds he heard were the distant echoes of gunfire. Gunfire that he knew came from the mock battle his father and the sheriff were staging against the Aswangs. A battle with the sole purpose of allowing him time to steal unnoticed through the woods until he reached the mayor's house.

Dean glanced at his watch: 4:18. He looked up and once again stared straight ahead into the dense thicket. He had no idea how close he was to his destination. But he only had seven minutes to get there. And hopefully leave himself with enough time to spare so that he could correctly ascertain the situation he was walking into. Find out if there was anyone left guarding Rennick's house. Or any other Aswangs in the area that he'd have to deal with before he went in for his brother.

And determine just how difficult it was actually going to be to breach the distance to Rennick's house and get inside.

Dean took a deep breath before he commenced his excursion through the overgrown vegetation. It wasn't long before he could see a break in the shadows; an erratic scattering of sunshine filtering in through the jumbled foliage. Taking care to remain vigilant, Dean moved stealthily toward the light until he came to the edge of the woods where he knelt down quietly behind a tree to ensure that he remained hidden from view.

Peering out amongst the sparse vegetation, Dean scrutinized the adjoining housing development in order to establish his exact location and determine how far he was from Rennick's backyard. Based on the perimeter of the woods as they gave way to manicured lawns, Dean reasoned that he was only about three houses away from the mayor's house.

Staying far enough inside the woods so that he wouldn't be seen, Dean traversed discretely toward his destination, remaining close enough to the edge of the woods that he could still see the houses. And be able to detect any Aswangs that might be lingering in the area. But, aside from the occasional glimpse of an Aswang that was either retreating from the gun fight or repositioning itself to re-enter the battle, there was nothing to cause him concern. And as much as Dean wanted to shoot every one of the enemy that he saw, he realized that doing so would only be detrimental to his goal. So Dean resisted shooting any of them, leaving them for his father and Sheriff Durham to deal with.

When he arrived at the mayor's backyard, Dean once again glanced at his watch. It was 4:24. And that only left him with one minute to complete an inspection of Rennick's backyard and determine how he was going to get into the house. Thankfully, the immediate area was devoid of activity with all their adversaries involved in the battle.

So Dean concentrated on the house itself. He judged that it was approximately twenty yards from the edge of the woods to the house. And Dean was confident that he'd be able to cover that distance without being seen. And although he didn't think he'd have any trouble breaking in through the backdoor, he knew it would be a much better idea to get in through a basement window. Because then he could search the basement for Sammy before he chanced wandering through the rest of the house. If he went in through the back door, he'd be forced to decide which way to go first. Upstairs or down. And that would mean that he'd have to retrace his steps one way or the other. Not only would that be a gigantic waste of time, it would also increase his chances of getting caught.

So Dean carried out a quick evaluation of the basement windows, estimating them to be about two feet tall and three feet wide. Which was plenty big enough for him to be able to crawl through. And he knew exactly which window he was going to access; the one furthest away from the backdoor. Because, chances were, that the backdoor was located in close proximity to the basement stairs, making that far window the furthest away. And any noise he made getting in the house would be muffled by the distance and less likely to travel up the stairs to the main floor where there was a good chance Rennick would hear it.

A quick glance at his watch confirmed what Dean already knew; that it was 4:25. And time to go get Sammy. So with a final sweeping look around, Dean bolted from the bushes and dashed toward the house. He breached the distance without incident and threw himself on the ground when he reached the house. He immediately rolled over, sweeping over the yard with his gun ready to shoot while he scanned the yard for any sign that he had been seen. But there was nothing out of the ordinary and nothing moved except the leaves in the trees. So Dean turned his attention back to the task at hand.

The window was locked. But that wasn't going to be a problem. Like most window locks, this one was designed to keep the elements out; not prevent someone from getting in. So Dean hastily grabbed the screwdriver out of his pocket and shoved it between the two panes of glass. He quickly looked over his shoulder again before he seized the screwdriver with both hands and, trying to be as quiet as possible, he cautiously pulled it towards him until he heard the brusque snap of the window lock as it broke.

Pleased that it had been a relatively cheap lock and hadn't generated an overabundance of noise, Dean marveled at how fast and easy it had been to pry the window open. It had taken him less than a minute. And required minimal effort. Obviously Rennick wasn't concerned about theft. But why would he be? He wasn't really human so all the things that humans collected and cherished wouldn't mean anything to him. So there wouldn't be any reason for him to worry about the security of his house.

With the lock broken, Dean slowly slid the window open. Then he guardedly poked his head inside to peer into the basement. But the interior was dark and he had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. And once they did, he noticed that there was little in the basement. It was unfinished and clutter-free; in fact, it appeared to be just one big empty room.

Not detecting any movement inside, Dean slowly lowered himself through the window and landed softly on the floor. Then he stealthily made his way to the basement stairs. When he reached the staircase, he turned around and pressed his back against the wall while he listened carefully for any sounds to indicate that his arrival had been detected. But nothing happened so he cautiously poked his head around the corner and looked up the stairs. With no sign of anyone nearby, Dean stole silently up the stairs, holding his gun firmly against his chest with both hands; ready to aim and shoot at the first sign of trouble.

As he made his way to the landing, Dean paused once again, waiting for any hint that Rennick may be lurking nearby but was only met with silence. So either Rennick hadn't heard him enter the house or he was so engrossed in the ensuing battle that he hadn't stirred from his vantage point. Dean looked hesitantly around the corner onto the main floor. At the top of the stairs was a short hallway that ending at the kitchen on the right and, on the left, just a few feet away was another staircase that led to the second storey. The hall continued on until it opened into a corridor that seemed to be the division between the living and dining rooms.

The sun shining in through a big front window cast an elongated shadow across the floor in the corridor. But it wasn't distorted enough to be unrecognizable. It was obviously the shadow of a person and Dean was certain that it was Rennick; he must be watching the ensuing battle from the security of his living room.

Dean stepped quietly onto the main-floor, keeping his back pressed firmly against the wall as he slunk down the hall. He kept his eyes glued to the shadow on the floor, anxiously watching for any indication that Rennick was going to head his way. But the shadow didn't move and he was able make it to the end of the hall without incident.

Standing as close to the end of the wall as he dared, Dean cautiously glanced into the living room. He could clearly see Rennick standing in the window with his back to him. And, although he couldn't see the entire room, Dean didn't think that Sammy was with him; he was willing to bet that he was probably locked in a bedroom upstairs.

During the entire time he had been in the house Dean hadn't heard any conversation. And if Sammy was anywhere near Rennick, Dean knew that his brother would have said something by now. Because Sammy would know that they were going to come for him. So, to make it as easy as possible to find him, Sammy would initiate a conversation.

And Rennick hadn't even turned around. So he wasn't concerned about his captive moving. Which also indicated that Sammy wasn't with him.

After quickly glancing into the dining room, Dean inched his way back to the stairs; his attention never veering from the shadow on the ground until he lost sight of it as he slowly and quietly edged his way up the stairs. When he reached the top, Dean quickly darted away from the staircase to avoid being seen should Rennick decide to abandon his post and venture into the hallway. Looking down the upstairs hall Dean immediately guessed which room Sammy would be in. And that would be the only room with a closed door.

Dean sidestepped down the hall, passing only one other bedroom on his way. But a quick inspection of that room confirmed that his brother wasn't there so Dean continued toward the closed door. Reaching it, Dean wasn't surprised to see that the privacy lock had been installed with the lock on this side of the door. It was obviously meant to keep something locked securely inside the room. And he was willing to bet that that something was Sammy.

Dean jumped across the hall, sliding his back against the wall beside the bedroom door. Scanning the locking mechanism, Dean was pleased to discover that it was going to be a cinch to unlock the door and get inside; all he had to do was turn the privacy bolt with his fingers. Then it was a simple turn of the doorknob and he'd be in.

Piece of cake.

Releasing the gun with his left hand, Dean pointed it down the hall in the direction of the stairs, prepared to shoot should Rennick emerge. He pinched the privacy bolt between his fingers and turned it slowly, taking extra care that it didn't make any noise as it unlocked. Then he gently grabbed hold of the doorknob, turning it slowly until it released the latch. When he had turned the knob as far as it would go, Dean warily eased the door open, sliding himself along with it. He opened it just far enough to slip inside before he swiftly darted into the room, spinning around in full circle behind the door.

He had no sooner entered the room when he caught sight of something moving behind him. Turning around quickly, Dean grabbed the attacker's upraised arm in one hand as he slammed the unknown figure into the wall, pinning him forcefully across the chest with his other arm.

"_Dean?_ What are you doing here?"

"Got invited to dinner. _What the hell do you think I'm doing here?_" snipped Dean as he pushed his arm off his brother's chest and grabbed the lamp that Sam held in his upraised hand. Then glancing suspiciously between his brother and the lamp, he asked incredulously, "You were actually going to hit me with this?"

"I thought you might be someone else," stated Sam in annoyance as he grabbed his injured shoulder and massaged it with his hand.

Realizing that he had jarred his brother's shoulder when he slammed him against the wall, Dean uttered, "Sorry" before he put the lamp on the dresser and walked over to the window to peer outside.

"What's goin' on out there?" asked Sam, walking over to join him.

"Gunfight."

"Thanks Einstein. Like I hadn't figured that out already." When Dean didn't elaborate any further, Sam asked, "So whose house is this? And how'd you manage to find me?"

"Rennick's" replied Dean turning to face his brother. "And I can find you anywhere, Sammy. I have this little Sammy homing device installed in my brain. So just remember – you can run, but you can't hide. Not from your big brother."

Sam rolled his eyes but chose to ignore his brother's last comments, asking instead, "This is Rennick's house? As in _Mayor_ Rennick?"

"Your powers of deduction are simply amazing, Sammy. In fact, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes," retorted Dean before he wandered over to the door and put his ear against it to listen for any noises in the hallway. "Now if you'd just stop trying to kill me, I might even admit that you're not half bad as a brother."

"How was I supposed to know it was you?"

"Well, who else did you think it could be?"

"Maybe whoever brought me here."

"And this guy – whoever he might be - would just ease the door open slowly like that? Wouldn't it make more sense for him to just barge in?"

"I dunno. I didn't stop to psychoanalyze it," answered Sam heatedly.

"Well, maybe you should have. Especially with what's goin' on outside. You shoulda known it was Dad and me. And that we'd be coming to get you." Dean lifted his ear from the door as he pulled one of the spare guns from the waistband of his jeans and handed it to his brother. "Here. Take this."

"A gun?"

"No Stupid, it's a rattle. Just be careful where it's pointin' when you shake it. Of course it's a gun. You've seen one before, ya know. And I'm pretty sure you've even fired one on occassion."

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean slowed pulled the door open just wide enough to be able to peek down the hall and after he had satisfied himself that the hallway was indeed empty, he opened it wide enough to step through. Glancing back at Sam, he whispered, "Com' on" before he walked warily into the hallway.

Cautiously following his brother, Sam also sidled quietly down the hall until he caught up with Dean, who had stopped just shy of the top of the stairs and was discreetly peering down them.

Ascertaining that the coast was clear, Dean turned to look at Sammy. "Stay close," he ordered quietly as he gingerly stepped down onto the first stair.

They descended down the stairs, hesitating briefly between each step and keeping their guns poised and ready in front of them. Dean kept his eyes focused on the floor in front of the stairs in the event that a shadow should suddenly appear. But when he reached the bottom stair without incident, Dean paused and held up his left hand to signal Sam to stop. Then he cautiously glanced up and down the hallway as an extra safeguard before he took the final step onto the main floor.

Dean swung left with his gun still drawn, mindful that Rennick was somewhere in the house. But he saw nothing to indicate that the mayor was lying in wait for them so Dean motioned for Sam to proceed the rest of the way down the stairs. Sam focused his attention to the right as he stepped off the stairs and immediately noticed a doorway a short distance away.

"Backdoor," mouthed Dean, tilting his head in the direction of the stairwell.

Sam nodded to indicate that he understood what his brother wanted him to do and he slowly advanced toward the doorway, keeping his gun aimed steadily in front of him. Dean continued watching in the other direction as he walked backwards, making sure he stayed as close to his brother as possible. As Sam reached the open doorway, he chanced a look into the stairwell and noticed that there were four stairs ending at a small landing that housed the backdoor before the stairs veered sharply to the right as they continued into the basement.

By this time, Dean had backed up tightly to his brother and he gently touched Sam's arm with his elbow to get his attention. Sam leaned back from the doorway and nodded briefly to let Dean know that the stairwell was clear. Still backing up, Dean maneuvered around Sam until he was standing in the middle of the doorway. Then he slowly took a step down, still watchfully scanning the hallway as he motioned for Sam to join him.

Dean took another step down before he abandoned his scrutiny of the hallway and spun around quickly to check the basement stairs. As he did so, he put his arm out to stop Sam from stepping onto the landing before he had a chance to check it the remainder of the stairs. But the basement was in complete darkness and Dean had a hard time seeing down into it. Still, he couldn't detect any movement in the shadows and he hesitantly stepped onto the landing before he signaled for Sammy to join him.

Sam proceeded down the last two stairs and came up behind his brother who had turned and was now looking out the window in the backdoor to ascertain what danger - if any - was lurking outside. And while Dean did that, Sam instinctively spun around so that his back was to his brother in order to keep an eye on both the basement stairs and the back hallway.

With nothing outside to worry about, Dean cautiously opened the door, slowly stepping outside with it as he eased it open. When he had opened it far enough for Sam to squeeze out past him, Dean stopped and waited for his brother to quietly slip out the door. But nothing moved behind him so Dean glanced back to see what could possibly be holding his brother up. And as he looked behind him, his heart skipped a beat.

Sammy had disappeared.


	49. Chapter 49

_A/N:_

_Finally! After exactly 9 months - it's finished! And I want to say thank you to everyone who has read this! Everyone who put up with all the delays. All the cliffhangers!_

_I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it!_

_Thanks again!_

* * *

Dean gripped the gun firmly in both hands, re-cocking it as he hoisted it up to his cheek before he stepped back toward the house. Peering cautiously around the doorframe, Dean squinted into the darkness that encompassed the basement stairs. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a hazy silhouette began to materialize in the shadows. And as the image became clearer Dean recognized Mayor Rennick standing motionless on the stairs. 

And he was holding Sammy by the neck with a gun pointed directly at his brother's temple.

So Dean instinctively whipped both arms around the doorframe and pointed his gun directly at the mayor.

"Uh, uh, uh," warned the mayor with a sly grin as he pushed the gun closer to Sam's temple and cocked the hammer.

As if realizing for the first time just how much danger Sam was in, Dean flipped the barrel of the gun toward the ceiling as he gently eased up on the trigger. With his gaze fixed steadily on the mayor, Dean slowly raised his arms over his head to signify his complete compliance.

And when he was certain that Dean no longer posed a threat, Mayor Rennick stepped toward the seventeen year-old and grabbed the gun from his upraised hand.

"Put your hands behind your head," he ordered calmly, his confidence in having control of the situation evident.

"Okay. Okay. I'll do whatever you want. Just…don't hurt him" uttered Dean nervously as he slowly laced his fingers behind his head.

"Now why would I do that?" questioned the mayor sarcastically as he briefly removed the gun from Sam's head, and used it to motion to Dean that he wanted him to go up the stairs and onto the main floor. "Especially when I'm just gonna kill him later anyway."

Dean backed up the stairs. But his attention remained focused on the gun that was once again pointed at his brother's head. "What if you just let him go? Take me instead?"

"But I already have both of you," retorted the mayor as he followed Dean up the stairs, all the while maintaining an extremely tight hold on Sam. "And, if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I will shoot him. And then it'll be all your fault that your little brother is dead."

"Alright. I get it," acquiesced Dean fearfully, "But could you, maybe, just point the gun someplace other than his head. I won't try anything. I promise."

"Oh, I know you won't. Because once your brother's finished tying you up, you'll be as harmless as a puppy."

Having reached the top of the stairs, Dean backed into the wall as he gave Rennick enough room to join him in the hallway. As the mayor stepped onto the main floor, he jerked his head to the left as an indication for Dean to head that way. Dean commenced backing down the hall so that he didn't have to take his eyes off the mayor or his brother. As he reached the end of the hallway, Rennick motioned for him to proceed into the living room. So Dean backed cautiously into the living room, hesitating as the mayor stepped into the dining room and dragged Sam toward the dining room table.

As he neared the table, he jabbed Sam roughly in the shoulder with the gun and commanded, "Pick up that chair. And bring it with you into the living room."

Sam obediently lifted the chair, pulling it toward him so that he could insert his cast though the rungs in the back before he grabbed the other side of the chair with his left hand, trying desperately not to strain his injured shoulder. But as he assumed the full weight of the chair, he winced in pain.

Seeing his brother grimace, Dean immediately stepped forward, removing his hands from his head and reaching impulsively for the chair. "Here. I'll get it," he implored, his voice full of concern.

But Rennick shoved the gun harshly into Sam's throat as he glared viciously back at Dean, "One more step and he's toast."

"Sorry," apologized Dean, taking a hurried step backwards and immediately raising his arms above his head. "I...I wasn't doing anything. It's just that…Sammy's hurt. And I...I was gonna get the chair for him. That's all."

"If I'd wanted you to get it, I would have told you to," admonished Rennick harshly. "Now, be a good boy and turn around. Nice and slow. Your brother's going to set the chair down right behind you. And you're going to sit on it. "

Dean took a deep breath as he reluctantly followed Rennick's order, turning around slowly to face the window. As soon as Dean was facing away from them, Rennick pushed Sam toward his brother.

"Put the chair down," ordered Rennick sharply.

Sam set the chair down behind his brother's legs.

Addressing Dean, the mayor commanded, "Now, sit."

As Dean complied with his demand, Rennick walked up to Sam and shoved him toward a tangled pile of rope that lay on the floor in front of the couch. Rennick then walked around to the front of the chair and pointed the gun at Dean as he instructed Sam to use the rope to tie his brother up.

Sam glanced quickly at Dean. But Dean remained fixated on Rennick, contemplating whether or not he should try to disarm him while Sam was out of his reach. But as if he could read the teenager's mind, Rennick took a step sideways and redirected the gun so that it was once again pointed at Sam.

"Wanna take the chance?" he sneered, staring brazenly at Dean.

So Dean dismissed the idea of trying to overpower the mayor. At least for now. He would wait. Because he knew the opportunity would present itself again. He just had to be patient.

Not that that was one of his best attributes.

Sam had retrieved the rope and was now standing anxiously just off to the side. And although the gun that Rennick had trained on him was making him nervous, Sam was much more concerned about what Dean was thinking. He knew his brother well enough to know that he would be waiting for an opportunity to overtake Rennick and he was afraid that Dean might misjudge the danger that the mayor posed to them. His only consolation was knowing that Dean wouldn't attempt anything as long as the gun was aimed at him. But if Rennick pointed it away from him, Sam wasn't quite so sure what Dean would do.

Staring astutely at Dean, Rennick ordered Sam to tie his brother's hands with the rope. Sam walked timidly to the back of the chair and grabbed Dean's right wrist, pulling his arm down behind the chair. Fearfully watching Rennick Sam looped the rope around his brother's wrist before he hesitantly seized Dean's left wrist and tied it to his other hand. He wound the rope loosely around Dean's wrist before tying a slipknot and inconspicuously placing the end of the rope into his brother's hand. As soon as Dean clutched the rope, Sam began to lightly coil the rope around his brother's wrists to hide their deception and make it appear that Dean's hands were tightly tied.

Once he had completed his task Sam stood up. But before he had the chance to fully straighten up, Mayor Rennick kicked another length of rope toward him and told Sam to tie Dean's legs to the chair. Sam hesitantly walked around the chair and retrieved the rope. Without looking at his brother, Sam tethered his right leg to the chair. He completed the job by tying a simple reef knot that he knew Dean would be able to easily undo. Then Sam slid over to Dean's other leg and began securing Dean's other leg in exactly the same manner. But as he wrapped the rope around his brother's leg, Sam felt the outline of the gun that was still strapped to his brother's leg. Without raising his head, Sam discreetly lifted his eyes to look at his brother. And Dean was looking at him. He knew what Sam's questioning look was for:

He wanted to know whether he should take the gun and shoot Rennick.

But Dean didn't want Sam to do that. And while he couldn't verbally convey his disapproval, he stared intently at Sam and gave a barely discernable shake of his head. Dean's objection to his unspoken question came through loud and clear so Sam lowered his eyes and finished tying Dean's leg to the chair, once again making sure that he'd be able to easily untie the binding. Then Sam rose to his feet and backed away from the chair before he ventured another look at his brother. Only this time Dean wasn't looking at him; he was watching Rennick. Because Rennick still had the gun trained on Sam. And as Sam backed up, Rennick grabbed his collar and dragged him roughly toward the window.

"Hey!" protested Dean angrily, "Leave him alone!"

"Or you'll do what exactly?" questioned the mayor snidely.

"You hurt him - And I'll kill you."

Mayor Rennick just shook his head and ignored Dean's seemingly idle threat before he thrust Sam in front of him and headed out the front door.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John and the sheriff had killed three more Aswangs by the time John had another chance to check the time. And the twenty minutes he had allotted to Dean to get Sammy out had long since passed. Which meant that they could now make their move on Rennick. Up until now they'd been fighting from behind their vehicles, purposely drawing the Aswangs toward them and keeping them away from their leader's house.

But, if everything had proceeded as planned, his sons were now out of harm's way. And there'd been nothing to indicate otherwise so John was going with the assumption that they were well on their way back to the motel and he and Sheriff Durham could safely finish off the rest of the Aswangs.

And that included Rennick. Provided Dean hadn't killed him already. But, assuming he was still alive, he remained holed up inside his house. And John didn't think he was likely to come out on his own. So they'd have to go to him. And kill every one of those creatures that got in their way.

John signaled to the sheriff that it was time to begin the third and final phase of their battle. After seeing Sheriff Durham's nod of confirmation, John dashed across the street, heading to the nearest house. As he left the protection that their vehicular barricade had afforded him, gunfire erupted from somewhere behind him. But John resisted turning around, trusting the sheriff to cover his back while he raced to the bushes that bordered the property he was headed toward.

As he reached the bushes, John flung himself onto the ground, rolling under the thick foliage as he spun around and flipped onto his stomach so that he was once again facing the street and could aid in his own defense. But the gunfire had ceased and neither John not the sheriff could perceive any further threats. Regardless, they continued to scan the vicinity for any sign of their enemies before John motioned to the sheriff that he would cover him while he relocated to the opposite side of street.

Just as Sheriff Durham moved away from the vehicles, a second-storey window in the house that he was heading toward opened very slowly. But the barely visible movement didn't escape John's notice and he fired into the centre of the window, shattering the glass on impact. He fired a second time, just in case his original shot hadn't deterred the assailant but there was no further movement from behind the window.

A sudden motion from behind the same house drew John's attention and he spied a different gunman targeting the sheriff. But Sheriff Durham had seen him too and before John had a chance to shoot, the sheriff aimed his gun at the assassin and fired. His hurried shot went wide but it had been enough to cause the gunman to withdraw behind the house which enabled the sheriff to reach his destination.

With Sheriff Durham successfully relocated, John made the next move, crawling out of the shrubbery and racing toward the house. But as he ran, nothing happened. No gunfire. No movement. Nothing. Which John found strangely disturbing. So as soon as he had reached the house, he backed tightly against the wall and stood there motionlessly. But there was no response to his actions. And that could only mean one of two things:

Either all the Aswangs had retreated to Rennick's house.

Or they were lying in wait somewhere up ahead.

And either scenario was plausible.

Because Aswangs were essentially cowards. They'd proved that time and again. And perhaps this battle had already depleted their limited courage. Or, with both John and the sheriff still alive, they could have felt that it was far too dangerous for them to continue fighting and had taken flight back to their leader.

But, on the other hand, on their traditional hunts, Aswangs always sought out their victims, waiting to attack when the time was right. So it was entirely possible that they were simply stalking the two men.

And with at least seven of the creatures still alive, John knew they had to be very careful.

So he walked cautiously toward the back of the house and glanced around the yard before he eased around the corner. Staying as close to the wall as he possibly could, John constantly checked the backdoor and the windows for any indications that he was being watched as he sidled along the wall. When he made it to the other side of the house, he paused and looked out at the street before he ran to the house next door.

Leaning tightly against the wall, John scoped out the backyard, noticing immediately that the next house had by a huge fence that enclosed the backyard. The fence was too high for John to scale so he crept cautiously toward the front of the house until he reached the end of the building. He scanned the neighborhood and witnessed the sheriff dashing between the two houses that were exactly opposite his position.

John glanced at front yard of the house next door and observed a small bush in the garden swaying slightly. Watching it closely, John saw the barrel of a gun protrude from the front of the bush. And it was aimed directly at Sheriff Durham. So John sighted the bush and fired. As the reverberation of the gunshot echoed through the air, the stricken gunman leapt up from his hiding spot and grappled wildly at his chest. But there was nothing he could do to stop the debilitating effects of the bullet as it cursed through his body until he was obliterated into miniscule particles of dust.

When his shot went unanswered, John bolted across the yard to the fence that cordoned off the next property. John crouched behind the fence as he once again scrutinized the entire street. But the area was unnaturally quiet and John couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that swept over him. He looked cautiously around the fence toward Rennick's house.

And his whole world came crashing down on top of him.

Because standing on the porch, with the mayor behind him and a gun pointed at his head, was his youngest son.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean couldn't believe his luck.

If he was willing to call it that.

Because things hadn't exactly gone according to plan.

Rennick had ambushed them. He'd grabbed Sammy just before they'd made it out of the house. He'd waited until Dean had let his guard down. And he'd even managed to take his brother's gun. Which he used to ensure that Dean didn't do anything rash as he forced them back inside and made Sammy tie him up

But still...

There had to be some level of luck involved.

Because Rennick had acted exactly as Dad had said he would.

Rennick hadn't come close to him. Not once. He hadn't even thought to check the restraints after Sammy had tied him up. It hadn't seemed to occur to him that his brother might not tie him up exactly as he expected him to. It just didn't seem to have crossed his mind.

And Dean had to admit that he was a little surprised by that. Regardless of what Dad had predicted. Because it simply didn't make sense that he wouldn't even stop to consider the fact that something like that just might happen. But, then again, Aswangs were normally solitary hunters. So they didn't issue orders in the first place. Or work together. And even though Rennick had overcome his species normal habits, he obviously hadn't been able to circumvent his own ingrained train of thought.

But that was perfectly okay with Dean. Especially seeing as this little glitch had set them back at least half an hour. And twilight was coming. Soon.

Much too soon for his liking.

So, when Rennick left the room with Sammy in tow, Dean began removing his restraints. He twisted his hands around to unwind the rope before he pulled on the end that Sam had placed in his hands and slipped the knot loose. Having untied the rope, Dean slid his hands out of the bindings and bent down to undo the rope that was fettering his legs. Keeping a vigilant eye out for the mayor, Dean unstrapped the cord that bound his left leg in order to get to his gun.

And that was another thing that Dean couldn't quite understand.

Rennick hadn't even thought to search him to see if he had another weapon.

But …Rennick wasn't human. And that had to explain it. Just like his father had said. And that explanation was good enough. At least for the moment. Because there were other things to worry about. Things like getting Sammy away from Rennick. And getting the hell outta here.

Before night fell.

Dean shook his foot free of the remaining cord and grabbed the gun, shoving it under his thigh before he bothered to free his other leg. Then he grabbed the gun and cocked it before he slid silently off the chair and walked into the hallway to look for Rennick.

Rennick had gone outside with Sammy. And he'd had the gun trained on his brother's head. Because he was planning to use Sammy to stop his father's progress. But, with a little bit of daylight left, Rennick would simply use Sammy to buy himself a bit of time.

And Dean knew that Rennick's plan would work. His father would stop fighting. And he'd even consider surrendering to Rennick if it went that far. Because he wouldn't risk anything happening to Sammy. Not now. And not ever.

And to top it all off, Dad wouldn't have any idea what had happened to him. Rennick might tell his father that he was dead. That he'd killed him as soon as he'd broken into the house. And if that's what Rennick said, there was no reason for Dad not to believe him. So he had to figure out some way to let Dad know that he was alive. Before his father gave in to Rennick's demands.

And he had to do it before sunset.

Dean walked stealthily into the front vestibule, being extremely careful to stay away from the door so that his shadow wouldn't be seen through the window. But he did get close enough so that he could see what was going on outside.

And it was exactly the scenario that he had been dreading.

Rennick was standing by the railing, holding the gun to Sammy's head. And he was clutching Sammy so tightly around the neck that Dean was surprised his brother could still breathe. Which was probably why Sammy's hands were so tightly clenched around Rennick's arm.

Dean also noticed how quiet it had become. All the gunfire had ceased. And nothing was happening outside.

Nothing except for the three armed Aswangs that were walking up the street. Which meant that Dad and the sheriff had to be somewhere between those three Aswangs and this house. But from where he was standing, Dean couldn't see his father or the sheriff and he was really hoping that they hadn't yet revealed themselves. Or surrendered.

But as long as it remained quiet, there was little Dean could do. He couldn't open the door for fear that Rennick would hear him. And if he tried to shoot Rennick through the window the odds were pretty good that the bullet would just be deflected by the glass. So he was going to have to wait until something happened. Or someone made a move. And hopefully that move wouldn't be his father surrendering to Rennick.

Dean was pretty sure that there hadn't been any communication between his father and the mayor. That, for the time being, they were still engaged in a stand-off. His father would wait for Rennick to do something first. Something like state his terms. Or tell his father exactly what he wanted.

But maybe Rennick would continue waiting too. And if he did that, they'd be wasting precious time. Time they couldn't afford to waste. Not with dusk approaching.

Just then Dean saw someone walk up the front steps and join Rennick on the porch. It was Chief Nevins. Dean sighed. That was just what he needed. Someone else to get in his way. But, on second thought, it might just be a good thing. Maybe together they'd get distracted. And that would be his chance to do something.

Dean moved closer to the door, keeping a watchful eye on what was happening outside. Rennick and the fire chief were talking but he couldn't hear what they were saying. Rennick had relaxed his hold on Sammy a little bit. Perhaps Nevin's arrival had bolstered his confidence. Then Dean saw Rennick jerk his head toward the door and say something to Chief Nevins that resulted in the fire chief glancing at the house. Dean ducked quickly out of sight but he thought he knew what they were discussing.

Rennick wanted Nevins to come inside and check on him.

So Dean hastily stuck the gun into the waistband of his jeans and rushed back to the living room. He picked the rope up off the floor and bunched it up in his hands as he sat back down in the chair. Dean swung his arms behind the chair to make it look as if he was still tied up and he positioned his feet around the legs of the chair so it wasn't overtly obvious that they weren't restrained. Then he sat back and waited until the front door opened and the fire chief walked in.

Nevins stood in the entranceway and examined Dean closely. For a moment it looked like he might just turn around and walk back outside. But then something seemed to catch his eye and he walked slowly into the living room, keeping his eyes trained on the rope by Dean's feet. As he got closer he realized that the rope wasn't binding the young captive's feet.

Standing over the seated teenager, Nevins grinned and asked, "You plannin' on goin' somewhere?"

Dean didn't answer; he just stared back at the fire chief.

"Well, there really isn't anywhere you can go," stated the fire chief as he knelt down to retie the rope, "So you might as well get comfortable."

As soon as Nevins began tying his ankles, Dean dropped the rope and whirled his arms forward. He clasped his hands and forearms together and bashed them down as hard as he could on top of the fire chief's head as he simultaneously thrust his leg upwards, knocking him vehemently under the chin. The combined impact of the blows rendered the fire chief unconscious almost instantaneously.

With the fire chief sprawled out on the floor in front of him, Dean sprang off the chair and proceeded to tie him up. He made sure that Nevins was bound tightly and that there was no way he'd be able to wiggle free. Because, even though he wanted to, Dean couldn't kill him right now- a gunshot would give him away. So the next best thing was to ensure that the fire chief couldn't get away while he concentrated on killing Rennick.

Dean stood up and re-armed himself before he tiptoed back to the main foyer. The fire chief had left the door ajar and Dean was going to use that to his advantage. He peered cautiously through the window in the door at the mayor who was still standing on the porch with a tight grip on his brother. Glancing past him, Dean looked for the three Aswangs he had seen previously. At first he couldn't locate them. But then he saw two of them marching up the side of the road behind his father while the remaining one was escorting the sheriff on the opposite side of the street.

And neither his father nor the sheriff appeared to be armed.

But Dean knew his father wouldn't be stupid enough to relinquish all his weapons; he wouldn't just give up. It wasn't in his nature. Even if he did surrender. He'd be trying to come up with a backup plan. And Dean could do that for him. He just had to get him back in the game. As quickly as he possibly could. And to do that he was going to have to kill Rennick. Then Dad could take care of the rest of them.

But Dean had to act fast. Because the sun was setting rapidly and in just over ten minutes it would be dark.

So Dean scooted past the open door and leaned against the front wall. He kept his gun cocked and ready to use while he cautiously extended his foot until it touched the base of the door. He used his foot to ease the door open until it was about a third of the way open. Then Dean withdrew his foot and waited for any indication that the mayor had seen the door move. But Rennick was preoccupied watching his father's approach and he didn't turn around. And he must have momentarily forgotten about Chief Nevins too. He was probably too busy gloating about capturing his father. And that would keep him distracted long enough for Dean to blow him away.

And Dean was going to relish that moment for the rest of his life.

Dean knew he was only going to have one chance to kill Rennick so he had to make sure that his shot was accurate. He leaned forward and cautiously glanced outside to get a proper fix on Rennick's location. Then he drew his head back inside and took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he stepped boldly into the open doorway and leveled the gun at the mayor.

But Rennick spun around just as Dean fired and the bullet simply grazed his shoulder. And as he turned, the mayor swung his gun around and pointed at Dean. Dean lunged sideways to avoid being shot and he dropped to his knees as he altered his aim in order to take another shot at Rennick. But the mayor mirrored Dean's movements, adjusting both his stance and his aim as he fired off a second round. But his rapid gyrations caused him to loosen his grip on Sam, who managed to steady himself and elbow Rennick squarely in the stomach a millisecond before the mayor fired.

As a result of Sam's assault, Rennick's shot went wide. But he retained his hold on Sam and he savagely pulled him in front of him, using him as a shield between himself and Dean. The unforeseen sequence of events happened so quickly that Dean barely had enough time to swerve the barrel of his gun to the side before it discharged. And, although he had managed to avoid shooting Sam, Dean missed Rennick too.

But the mayor had successfully shifted his aim and he was once again preparing to fire at Dean. But, whether it was because he wasn't human or because he had underestimated his young adversaries, the mayor didn't anticipate Sam's next move as he forcibly swung his right arm upwards and smacked Rennick in the face with his cast. The sudden impact stunned the mayor and he released Sam as he staggered backwards.

As soon as he was freed from the mayor's grasp, Sam bolted off to the side, leaving Dean with an unobstructed shot at the mayor. And Dean took it without hesitation. His shot was right on target and the bullet sank into Rennick's torso before he'd had a chance to recover from Sam's assault. With his death sentence procured, the astonished mayor raised his head and stared venomously at Dean as he desperately tried to point the gun at him in order to take the teenager out with him. But the bullet that had ripped into his body was caustically eating its way through his internal organs and the resulting pain was more than Rennick could bear. He fell helplessly to the ground, providing Dean with the opportunity he had been waiting for. Dean jumped up and grabbed Sammy's arm before he raced into the house with his brother in tow. As soon as they re-entered the house, Dean slammed the front door shut. Still clutching Sam's shirt, Dean started walking toward the back entrance.

Then he remembered something.

Looking sternly at Sam, Dean ordered, "Stay here," before he turned and headed into the living room.

He walked right up to the unconscious fire chief and cocked his gun. Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, Dean aimed his gun at Nevins and fired. He turned around and headed back toward the hallway. But Sam had followed his brother into the living room and was now he standing wide-eyed in the doorway.

His terror-filled eyes met Dean's stone-cold ones. "How could you just shoot him like that?" he blurted out in abject horror at what his brother had done.

"Easy," replied Dean as he walked around his brother, seizing his shirt as he dragged him back into the hallway.

"But he wasn't even a threat," protested Sam.

"Yeah, he was, Sammy. He just didn't look it."

But the renewed sounds of gunfire erupted out on the street and Sam and Dean didn't bother to continue their conversation. The first traces of nightfall had begun to fall. And it was time for them to go. Dean knew he had to get Sammy back to the motel as quickly as he could. Because that was still part of the plan. And remained his only real objective. And even though he wanted to stay and help his father finish off the Aswangs, Dean knew that his father expected him to get Sammy out of there. So he had to comfort himself with the fact that the sheriff was there to help his father.

Dean steered Sam down the stairs to the landing. And then he flicked on the light to the basement. Just as a precaution. But there was nothing down there. So Dean peered outside to check the yards. And the entire area was still. Because all the remaining Aswangs were engaged in the battle with their father.

Dean opened the door. Only this time he wasn't taking any chances and he held tightly to his brother's shirt as he stepped outside, pulling Sam out with him. Dean kept his gun aimed steadily in front of him, constantly sweeping the area for any signs of danger as he led Sammy toward the woods.

Tired of being hauled around like a dog on a leash, Sam grabbed Dean's wrist and tried to remove it from his shirt, as he angrily demanded, "Let go."

But Dean didn't reply. He had no intention of releasing his brother until they made it safely into the woods; out here in the open there was just too much risk. But he did understand his brother's displeasure and he quickly breached the remaining distance to the thicket so that he'd feel safer once he relinquished his hold on Sam.

Dean pushed Sam into the woods ahead of him and spun around to take a final look around the manicured lawns before he ventured into the overgrown vegetation. Sam was still trying to regain his balance when Dean caught up to him. Wanting urgently to continue their journey, Dean once again grasped his brother's shoulders and spun him around before he put his hand on Sam's back to propel him forward.

But Sam moved quickly off to the side, separating himself from Dean before he spat venomously, "_Enough already_."

"_Okay,_" snapped Dean. "Just promise me that you'll stay with me. Alright?"

"_Whatever._"

"Come on, Sammy. We've had enough excitement today. We don't need any more."

Sam just rolled his eyes. But he did stay close to Dean as they made their way through the woods.

They had gone about 30 yards when Sam suddenly stopped and leaned against a small tree. He looked wearily at Dean and said, "I'm really tired. Can't we rest for a minute?"

But Dean once again seized his brother's shirt, pulling him away from the tree. "You can rest in the car. We're almost there."

Sam was too tired to continue arguing. The effects of the poison were once again threatening to overtake him and he stumbled forward, letting Dean guide him through the undergrowth without another word of protest. When they reached the edge of the woods Dean stopped so that he could canvass the outlying area and he quickly realized that they were only slightly further up the street from where he had originally gone in.

It was dark now. And relatively quiet. And the distant sounds of gunfire were only vaguely discernable. But they were far enough away from Ricker Street that Dean didn't think there was anything left for them to worry about. And the increasing darkness was making it harder for him to navigate Sam through the bush so Dean decided it was probably safe enough for them to leave the woods here. He put his arm around Sam to support him as they emerged from the thicket and proceeded toward the street. But as they walked past the houses and out toward the street, Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

Because sitting on the front bumper of the Impala and looking the other way, was Robin. With a few of his buddies hovering around him.

Still supporting his brother, Dean strode closer to the gaggle of teenagers before he stopped again.

"Get the fuck off my car, Leavey."

"Why should I?" answered Robin as he turned to face Dean.

"Because I told you to. That's why"

"What happens if I don't?"

"Just do it," barked Dean as he took another step closer, "Because I'm not gonna tell you again."

"What if I don't feel like getting off this piece of junk?" challenged Robin with a cocky grin on his face, glancing around at his friends.

"Then maybe _this_ will persuade you," answered Dean as he lifted the gun and aimed it at Robin.

Initially startled by the appearance of the gun, Robin quickly regained his composure and smirked, "Ohhh…Big, bad Dean Winchester. Whadda ya gonna do? _Shoot me?_"

"I'm thinkin' about it."

"And you expect me to believe that's a real gun?"

"Believe what you want," replied Dean matter-of-factly as he once again commenced walking, "But just remember, it's gonna hurt like a sonofabitch when I do shoot you."

Dean stopped walking when he was about fifteen feet away from Robin and his gang. Still aiming the gun at Robin, he glanced around at the remainder of the posse. And all the usuals were there.

Including Marty.

And that briefly threw Dean for a loop. Because he hadn't expected to ever see Marty again. He figured he'd have been with the rest of his kind. Fighting his father. Not hanging out with Robin. But, he hadn't expected to see Robin here either. And with only had one bullet left in his gun, Dean didn't have any to spare. Not on Robin. And he couldn't very well kill Marty in front of Robin and his cohorts either.

So he was just going to have to get rid of them first.

Holding the gun steadily in front of him, Dean stepped forward.

Robin jumped off the car.

Dean took another step.

Robin and his cronies stepped back.

Dean stepped closer.

They stepped backwards.

Dean advanced one more step.

And Robin and his companions retreated another step.

Dean continued moving toward them. One deliberate step at a time. And each of his steps was followed with tiny step backwards by his rivals.

Until, finally, Dean reached the passenger door of the Impala.

Keeping the gun trained on Robin and his friends, Dean slowly let go of his brother, making sure that Sam wouldn't have any trouble standing on his own. After Sam had resumed standing by himself and without taking his eyes off Robin, Dean reached for the door handle and swung the door open.

"Get in the car, Sammy."

"_But Dean_…"

"Get. In. The car." reiterated Dean fiercely, "And lock the doors."

Sam glanced nervously between Dean and Robin before he sighed heavily in defeat and reluctantly got in the front seat of the Impala. Once Sam was locked safely inside the vehicle Dean stepped toward Robin.

"It's time for you to go, Leavey. And take your stooges with you."

"I don't think so," replied Robin haughtily, briefly shifting his gaze away from Dean to look at something behind him.

Dean caught something move in the corner of his eye and he realized that he was about to be ambushed. So he spun around to fend off the unknown attacker but his defense had begun just a little too late and he found himself caught in a massive bear hug with his arms pinned tightly to his side. Dean immediately threw his head backwards, smacking it viciously into his captor's head, which caused his assailant to take an unsteady step sideways. But it hadn't been enough for him to relinquish his hold on Dean.

Undaunted, Dean glanced down at the ground and quickly stomped heavily on his opponent's foot. As his attacker fought to overcome the pain, Dean swung his hips sideways and slammed his elbow brutally into his attacker's midriff. The rapid-fire assault forced his opponent to release him and Dean lunged forward. But before he was able to regain his balance, Dean was ensnared in an unshakable headlock. Once again he hurled his elbow into his opponent's torso. But it had little effect and his foe bent him forward toward the ground. Dean fought to remain on his feet by spreading his legs apart and adjusting his stance.

But his adversary countered by whirling his fist toward Dean's head. Dean was forced to drop his gun in order to fend off the blow and as his rival's fist slammed into his open palm, Dean clasped his hand shut, seizing his adversary's fist in a firm grip. At the same time as he halted the punch with his left hand, Dean slid his right arm between their bodies and brought it up over his opponent's back. Using his hand that enclosed his opponent's fist, Dean shoved his foe's arm backwards until he was able to grab his wrist with his right hand and pull it over his back. Having effectively immobilized his opponent's arm, Dean released his hand and quickly grasped the other arm that was still encircling his neck. Dean yanked his assailant's arm downward as he took a step backwards and slid his head out from under his rival's arm. Now disengaged from the headlock, Dean straightened up and wrenched his opponent's arms backwards, pinning them both tightly behind his back. And with his attacker now powerless in front of him, Dean was finally able to get a good look at him.

Andy.

And he was struggling fiercely to get free; taking every ounce of energy Dean had just to hold onto the bigger teen. And he knew that it was only a matter of time before one of Robin's minions came to Andy's aid. It was just a question of who.

As Dean swiveled Andy around to face his buddies, Robin bolted toward them. He was going for the gun. And there was nothing Dean could do to stop him. Not as long as he was holding onto Andy.

Letting Robin get his hands on the gun would be worse than having to subdue Andy again. So Dean thrust Andy forward, propelling him into Robin. As the two friends collided, Dean reached down to grab the gun. But before he could reach it he was tackled from the side and, in a last-ditch effort to keep the gun out of his enemies' hands, Dean kicked it beneath the Impala before he hit the ground with his new assailant landing on top of him.

Dean rolled sideways to avoid being pinned to the ground. He grabbed his rival's shoulders and spun himself around. As he thrust him heavily into the pavement, Dean saw that his new opponent was Eric. And without wasting any time, Dean hoisted himself up and straddled Eric as he lay on the ground. Knowing that Andy and Robin would rejoin the fight within seconds, Dean hastily walloped Eric across the face, knocking him out-cold before he heaved himself off him and pivoted around to face his remaining foes.

By now, both Robin and Andy had risen to their feet. But Robin was slowly backing away, seemingly more than happy to leave Andy to deal with Dean. Still, Dean didn't trust either of them and he repositioned himself between them and the Impala, knowing that he couldn't let either of them get near the vehicle for fear that they'd get the gun. And as Dean moved, Andy shadowed him. The two teenagers stalked each other; both of them remaining a safe distance away as they assessed their opponent.

But Dean knew that his biggest worry was not Andy or Robin. It was Marty. Because it was dark now. And Marty would be able to revert to his natural form at any time. So Dean quickly glanced around, hoping to get a fix on Marty. But he was nowhere to be seen.

And Andy was inching slowly toward him.

So Dean refocused on Andy. But he didn't move, waiting instead to see what the bigger teen would do. And he didn't have to wait for long before Andy charged him. He rushed toward Dean with all the intensity of an out-of-control bull. And like a well-trained matador, Dean stood his ground until Andy was only a few feet away; then he simply stepped to the side and out of Andy's path. He watched in amazement as Andy slammed headfirst into the side of the Impala and crumpled to a lifeless heap on the side of the road.

Then Dean turned his full attention back to Robin.

And Robin was staring at him with panic-stricken eyes as he slowly backed away. He was getting ready to turn tail and run. But Dean wasn't about to let him go. Not after everything that had happened during the past week. Nor all the things that he'd done to him. And to Sammy.

It was time for him to pay up.

Dean moved steadily away from the Impala, diligently advancing toward Robin. And Robin kept backing away from him until he suddenly turned to flee. But Dean raced after him, effortlessly overtaking his nemesis. Dean seized Robin's collar as he pulled to an abrupt halt behind him, pulling Robin backwards and wrenching him around to face him. Robin lashed out wildly with his fists as he was spun around but Dean easily avoided the impetuous blows by leaning backwards before he pulled Robin angrily toward him. As the frightened teenager lurched toward him, Dean threw a sharp right hook into his jaw. Robin's knees buckled and he fell heavily to the ground leaving Dean towering over him.

Robin immediately tried to scramble away by pushing himself backwards. But Dean jumped on top of him, nailing him to the ground as he sat down heavily on his nemeis' pelvis. Dean resisted striking Robin, content to simply watch him wallow in fright. Robin clawed at the ground as he tried to wiggle out from underneath Dean. But Dean's weight held him securely in place. Somehow Robin was able to get hold of a medium-sized rock and he launched it viciously at Dean's head. Dean jerked sideways but the rock still managed to graze his temple and he finally decided that he had had enough. He seized Robin by the shirt, yanking his upper-body off the ground as he drew his other arm back, ready to pummel his hapless victim senseless.

But before Dean could mete out the well-deserved punishment, Robin's face turned a ghostly white as he looked at something behind Dean. His entire body began to tremble and he looked more terrified than Dean had ever seen him before.

It was then that Dean heard his brother's horror-stricken voice pierce the night air:

"**_DEAN! Watch out!_**"

Dean quickly rolled to the side, hauling Robin off the ground and pulling him on top of him. As his back hit the ground, Dean found himself staring up into the ravenous eyes of a bloodthirsty Aswang. The murderous creature had been reaching out to grab Dean but his sudden change in position happened so fast that the Aswang ended up spearing Robin with its razor-sharp claws instead.

Robin screamed out in pain as the creature tore him from Dean's grasp. Dean momentarily lay on the ground, watching as the Aswang rose into the night sky, preparing to take off with Robin. As it began to depart Dean instinctively jumped up and ran full-force toward the Impala. He dove to the ground and reached underneath the car to retrieve the gun. And as soon as he had it securely in his hand, Dean whirled around, desperately trying to sight the supernatural beast. But the creature's black body was cloaked in the darkness and it was only by honing in on Robin's incessant wails that Dean was able to pinpoint its exact location.

Dean rose to one knee as he took aim at the hysteria that was happening just a few yards away. But he couldn't pull the trigger as he watched the surreal sight. There was a part of him that didn't want to stop the massacre. It wasn't like Robin didn't deserve it. And as Dean struggled with his conscience, time seemed to slow down until it was almost at a standstill. He felt like he was watching a broken movie, each frame separate and disjointed from the previous one.

Dean knew he should shoot. He knew he had to kill the creature.

He just couldn't bring himself to do it. No matter how hard he tried.

And then a new voice came from the darkness behind him.

"_Dean._"

His father's voice.

He had spoken softly. But firmly. With no hint of annoyance. Or direction.

And Dean recognized the word for what it was.

It was not simply his name.

It was a statement. A request. A warning. A demand. An appeal. An order. An ultimatum. And a plea.

It was all those things rolled into just one word.

And it hit him more powerfully than any lecture he had ever received in his life.

It was enough to jolt him back to reality.

His indecision gone, Dean fired the gun.

The bullet perforated the Aswang's skin causing it to release its captive as it lurched backwards into the night sky. It flailed helplessly in the air. And its thunderous death throes instantly superceded the sobs that were still emanating from Robin's throat. But Robin's nightmare was over. For within seconds the doomed creature exploded, saturating the air around him with pieces of decomposing flesh.

But as soon as he had fired, Dean got to his feet and turned back toward to his car. He avoided looking for his father as he walked the short distance to the Impala, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the ground in front him.

"Winchester."

Dean recognized Robin's voice but he didn't stop or turn around. Dean had no intention of acknowledging him. He had done what he had to do. Whether he wanted to or not. He owed nothing else to Robin Leavey.

But as Dean reached for the door handle, Robin spoke again.

"Dean."

This time Dean did stop. He stood frozen beside the Impala with his hand on the handle. But he didn't turn around. He looked up and saw Sammy emerge from the car and stand beside it. He stared at his brother, wondering what he could be doing.

And then he heard Robin's voice again.

"Dean…Thanks, man."

But he didn't respond. It was Sammy who did:

"Just leave him alone, Robin."

Dean lifted the handle and opened the car door, sliding silently into the driver's seat. He put the keys into the ignition and waited while his brother got back into the car.

And as soon as Sam shut the door, Dean threw the Impala into gear and drove off down the street.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean awoke the next morning to find his brother rummaging through the dresser drawers

"Wha'cha doing?" he asked sleepily.

"Packin'," replied Sam nonchalantly.

"Packing? Why?"

"Dad says we're leaving."

"When?"

"I dunno. Soon," shrugged Sam.

"Like…Soon, now? Or soon, later?"

"Soon. After you wake up."

"Well, I'm awake now. We leavin' now?"

"I dunno Dean. Dad didn't say."

"What if I just slept all day?"

"I dunno, Dean'" replied Sam angrily. "Dad just said to let you sleep. He told me to help him pack until you woke up."

"Cool," answered Dean as he rolled over onto his stomach and put his pillow over his head. "Wake me up when you're done. And don't forget to pack my stuff that's under the bed."

"Pack your own stuff. You're awake now."

"Yeah, but Dad doesn't know that. So you'll just have to pack it for me. Besides I don't feel like packin'."

"So you think I should just do it for you?"

"That's what little brothers are for, Sammy."

Just then John walked into the room. He looked at Sam and asked crossly, "Did you wake him up?"

"No sir. He woke up on his own."

"Don't believe him, Dad. He woke me up so he wouldn't have to pack my things."

"I did not!"

"Yeah, ya did," persisted Dean playfully

"No I didn't!"

"Sure ya did. I was sound asleep when you came in here and started making enough noise to wake the dead."

"Like hell I did!" replied Sam in annoyance.

"Stop it. Both of you," ordered John tersely before he looked at Dean, "Get up. We're leaving as soon as you're ready." Then he turned to Sam, "Gather the rest of your brother's things while he gets dressed. I wanna be outta here in thirty minutes." Then he picked up his suitcase and headed out the door.

Dean got up from the bed and stripped the t-shirt off his body as he grinned at Sam. He threw the shirt at Sam as he headed toward the bathroom. "Pack that too. And don't forget the stuff under the bed."

"Jerk," muttered Sam, "And I don't see why you can't pack your own stuff."

"'Cause Dad told you to do it," responded Dean as he shut the bathroom door behind him.

By the time Dean emerged from the bathroom, the motel room as empty. Neither his father nor his brother were inside. Dean took a quick look around just to make sure that Sam hadn't missed anything before he joined his father and brother outside where he found them sitting on the chairs that were right outside the room.

"You did that on purpose," snapped Sam as soon as he saw his brother.

"Did what on purpose?" queried Dean.

"Stayed in the bathroom until all your stuff was packed."

"Oh Sammy, you're imagining things. I wouldn't do that to you."

John stood up, once again interrupting the ongoing squabble between his sons. "Alright you two. That's enough. We're leaving." He walked over to his truck, before he turned to face the boys. "Sammy, I think you should come with me. Dean'll follow us in his car."

"But Dad, can't I go with Dean? Please?" pleaded Sam.

John sighed, "You can't even get along with him for two minutes. But you still wanna go with him? It's a long drive you know."

"I know."

"It's okay, Dad," interrupted Dean. "I'll look after him. Make sure he behaves himself."

John glanced between his two sons. Sometimes they were next to impossible to figure out.

"Well, don't kill each other," he ordered as he got into the truck and backed out of the parking lot.

Dean grinned at his brother as he opened the driver's door of the car. "Get in, Kiddo. Before he changes his mind."

Sam smiled back at his brother and jumped into the passenger side of the car while Dean slid into the driver's seat. They followed their father out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

As they drove out of town, Dean glanced over at Sam and noticed that his cast had been broken again.

"When'd that happen?" he asked as he tilted his head toward Sam's wrist.

"This?" queried Sam as he lifted his arm up to inspect the broken cast. "I guess it broke when I hit Rennick with it last night. I don't really know."

Dean furrowed his brow. "We stoppin' to get you a new one?" he asked his voice full of concern.

"Later," answered Sam with a shrug. "Dad says he just wants to get outta town first."

"You sure you're gonna be okay until then?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Because that's the second time you've broken your cast in as many days. Can't be good for your wrist."

"Dad says we'll stop in another town and get a new one put on there."

"Yeah? Well, he better stop. 'Cause if he doesn't, I'm just gonna stop on my own. Before the end of the day. No way I'm letting you walk around without a proper cast on that thing."

Sam looked at his brother and shook his head. Then he turned and looked back out the front window. He scrunched down in the seat in an attempt to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and thought about what a pain in the ass his brother could be. He was always telling him what to do. Always hanging around and making sure nothing happened to him. Always getting into trouble with Dad if he didn't like how Dad treated him. Always acting like his guardian angel. But, for being such a pain in the ass, Sam realized something.

It really wasn't that bad knowing Dean was always there watching out for him.

John looked in the rear-view mirror at his sons driving in the car behind him. They were talking about something. And it seemed to be something pretty serious. Based on their expressions anyway. He marveled at how they could be fighting like cats and dogs one minute and then begging to be allowed to drive half way across the country together the next. They really were impossible to figure out. But for all the squabbles they got into and all the hassles they caused him, John was certain about one thing.

He knew that as long as they were together, he really didn't have to worry about his boys. That, not matter what, they would always be there to look after each other. Dean would always be there to protect Sammy. And Sammy was just as equally devoted to his big brother.

Dean glanced over at his brother sleeping in the seat beside him. He looked at the shattered cast before his eyes wandered to the sling that was once again supporting Sam's injured shoulder. His gaze fell to his brother's face and he scrutinized all the bruises and cuts that had resulted from the various fights and altercations Sam had been involved in during the last few days. Finally he honed in on the bruises that still covered Sammy's neck. The ones he was directly responsible for.

Dean winced. Sammy had been through a lot. And the majority of it had been his fault. Sammy had been hurt because he'd been an idiot. And as the twinges of sympathy washed through him, Dean thought about one thing.

He was never going to go out with another guy's girlfriend again.

It just wasn't worth it.

Not if it was going to lead to Sammy getting hurt.

Well…

It wouldn't be worth it…

Unless…

She was _really_ cute.

THE END.


End file.
